#ASK ⊹ ╲ TRUTH STINGS HARDER THAN WOUNDS.

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

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Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

[purifiedclitoris69]

The Truth

pt2 darkness and chaos

love spoiling you guys. i never really know what to put up here j like to yap lol. anyway enjoy ;)

angst with fluff and hurt/comfort

pairings: wanda maximoff x enhanced!reader

"I think I'd like some space for a little," you mumble turning away from her as you try so desperately to keep the tears from spilling.

"Okay," she agrees quietly walking towards the door, she pauses looking back as she's about to leave, "I'm sorry, y/n," she leaves.

It took about a week to heal from your injuries; your enhancements and Cho’s inventions helped immensely but the rest of your time in the medbay was cold.

The sterile white walls and beeping monitors were constant reminders that you were alone. It wasn’t just the physical pain—the ache in your abdomen that flared every time you moved—but the emptiness that settled deep in your chest, far more painful than the wound itself.

Days blurred into one another, filled with nothing but the low hum of medical equipment and the occasional visit from the team. Natasha came by when she could, sitting by your bed with gentle words of encouragement, trying to make you laugh. Sam would swing by too, cracking jokes that only barely lifted the suffocating weight you felt. Steve made a few appearances, his hand on your shoulder, telling you how strong you were, how you’d be back on your feet in no time.

But they couldn’t fill the void. Not really.

Because every time the door to the medbay opened, a part of you hoped it would be her. You waited for Wanda, every second stretching into an eternity, hoping that she’d come back and say she loved you.

Once you were healed and out the medbay , something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate—more like a slow, creeping numbness that settled in over time. At first, it was just avoiding her, making sure you weren’t in the same room if you didn’t have to be. But the distance didn’t stop there. Soon, you found yourself pulling away from everyone, isolating more and more until you were just a shadow moving through the compound.

You stuck to a strict routine now: wake up early, hit the training room before anyone else is awake, then disappear into your quarters for hours on end, either preparing for missions or finding a way to distract yourself. Solo missions have become your escape, and you volunteer for every one, no matter how dangerous or tedious. Anything to get away from the compound. From her.

The team has noticed. Of course they have. Natasha has tried to get you to open up, but you always find a way to deflect. “Just focused,” you’d tell her, throwing on a smile that you know she doesn’t believe. Steve’s asked you to join in on a few team exercises, but you decline, claiming you need to work on personal skills. Even Tony has made a few snide remarks about you turning into a recluse, though there’s concern in his eyes.

The compound itself feels suffocating. The once comfortable space where you’d joke with the others, share meals, and decompress after missions has now become a maze of memories you’re trying to avoid. Everywhere you go, you feel Wanda’s presence—whether it’s the soft hum of her magic in the halls or just the weight of her lingering gaze when you pass each other in silence.

You keep your interactions with the team to the bare minimum. A nod here, a muttered response there. Nothing more than what’s necessary. It’s easier that way. Easier than facing the questions, the pity, the inevitable confrontation with Wanda that you know is coming but can’t bring yourself to endure.

The training room became your sanctuary. You pushed yourself harder and harder each day, punishing your body until it screams for rest. It’s the only thing that makes you feel anything—the burn of your muscles, the sting of exhaustion. It drowns out the ache in your chest, even if just for a little while.

You’ve been reckless, too. Clint’s called you out for taking unnecessary risks in the field, and even Steve’s noticed your tactics have become more desperate. You don’t care. The danger keeps your mind off her.

When you’re not on a mission or in the training room, you’re holed up in your room, avoiding any social gatherings. Movie nights, dinners, even simple conversations in the kitchen—they’ve all become a thing of the past. You can’t stand the thought of sitting there, pretending everything’s fine while Wanda’s just a few feet away, acting as though you’re not both suffocating in the same silence.

Wanda was desperate for things to go back to the way they were.

It’s a quiet afternoon in the compound, the sun casting soft light through the large windows as you make your way to the kitchen. You’ve been trying to avoid everyone—especially her—but it’s almost impossible to escape entirely when you live under the same roof. You tell yourself that grabbing a cup of coffee and heading back to your room won’t take more than a minute. You can slip in and out without a problem.

But, of course, she’s already there.

Wanda stands by the counter, absentmindedly stirring a mug of tea. The second you step into the kitchen, her eyes flick up, and you can see that familiar spark of warmth—of friendship, or whatever’s left of it—light up her face.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice cautious but hopeful, like she’s testing the waters.

You force a neutral expression, giving her a small nod. “Hey.”

She smiles a little, and for a split second, it’s like nothing has changed. Like the last few months of distance and silence never happened. She moves over to the counter where the coffee maker is, just a few feet from where you stand, and her presence feels too close. Too familiar. Too painful.

“I was thinking…” Wanda starts, her tone casual, like she’s trying to bridge the gap, “maybe we could do something this weekend? Watch a movie or—” She pauses, her voice faltering as she notices the stiffness in your posture. “You know, like we used to.”

The words hang in the air, a thin thread of hope dangling between you. It’s tempting, that old dynamic, that easy friendship. But you can’t. Not anymore.

You force a tight smile, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “I… don’t think I’ll have time this weekend. Lots of mission reports to catch up on. I’m, uh, heading out for another mission soon too.”

Her face falls, just a little, but she quickly hides it behind another smile. “Oh, okay. Maybe when you get back?”

“Yeah,” you say, but it’s hollow. You’re not sure you believe it. “Maybe.”

You pour your coffee in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. She’s standing so close, so desperate to pull things back to what they were, but you can’t meet her halfway. You’re too hurt, too angry. And you can see it in her eyes—the sadness, the regret—but she’s still acting like everything’s fine. Like she didn’t break you that day.

Wanda tries again, her voice quieter this time. “It doesn’t have to be weird, you know. We’re still… friends.”

Friends. The word stings. You clench your jaw and take a long sip of your coffee, pretending like the statement didn’t just slice through you. “Right.”

There’s an awkward pause. Wanda shifts uncomfortably, her fingers tightening around her mug as she watches you, waiting for something—anything—from you. But you can’t give her what she wants. You can’t pretend like things haven’t changed.

You clear your throat, already looking for an excuse to leave. “I, uh… actually, I’ve got to get to the training room.” It’s not a complete lie. You do spend most of your time there now, drowning out the ache with physical exhaustion. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You’re already halfway out of the kitchen when you hear her soft reply. “Yeah. Okay.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

As you walk down the hall, your heart aches with every step, but you shove it down, burying it beneath layers of numbness. Wanda wants to pretend everything’s normal, but it’s not. It can’t be. And right now, the only way you can protect yourself is by keeping that distance.

The door to the training room closes behind you, and with it, the mask you’ve been wearing all day shatters. Alone again, you drop your coffee cup onto the bench and run a hand through your hair, the sharp sting of tears prickling behind your eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, desperate to stop them from falling, but it’s no use. The pain is too much, too raw. It claws at your insides, demanding to be felt.

You hate this. You hate yourself. For ruining everything. For letting your feelings get in the way of the one thing that mattered most—your friendship with Wanda. How could I have been so stupid? The thought echoes in your mind like a broken record, repeating over and over until it becomes a dull roar in your ears. You could have kept it to yourself, should have kept it to yourself. If only you had stayed quiet, swallowed your love like a bitter pill, maybe things would still be the way they were.

But no. You had to go and spill your heart out, thinking—hoping—that maybe she felt the same. That maybe there was a chance.

Now, all you have is the hollow, gnawing emptiness of her rejection. The distance that’s grown between you feels like a chasm, and every day that passes, it only gets wider. Wanda’s attempts to act like nothing’s changed cut deeper than any words. You hate that you can’t just let it go and pretend like she can. You hate that your love for her consumes you so completely, making it impossible to act normal, to act like the wound she left in you isn’t still bleeding.

And the worst part? The nightmares.

Every night, you dream of her. But it’s never the Wanda you used to know—the one who would laugh with you, who understood you better than anyone else. No, the Wanda in your dreams is cruel, her words laced with venom. She stands in front of you, her face twisted in disgust as she calls you stupid, pathetic, for ever thinking she could love you. “Did you really think I could love someone like you?” she sneers. “I had the greatest love of my life with Vision, and you—you’re just a joke.”

Each time, you wake up drenched in sweat, your chest tight with grief and shame, your body aching from the weight of the rejection that follows you, even in sleep. It’s torture. You’ve stopped trying to sleep altogether, throwing yourself into training, into missions, into anything that can distract you from the gnawing pain that follows you around like a shadow.

And Wanda…God, Wanda.

Every time she sees you now, her stomach twists into knots, guilt pulling at her like a heavy chain she can’t escape. She’s tried to reach out, tried to act like nothing’s changed, but every time she sees the neutral expression on your face, every time you make some excuse to leave, it’s like a dagger to her chest. She knows you’re hurting, knows that you think she doesn’t care—but she does. She cares more than she ever could have imagined.

The lie she told you that day, the one that broke you? It’s been haunting her ever since.

She can still see the look on your face when she said she didn’t love you, that she couldn’t be with you. It wasn’t just the hurt she saw—it was the betrayal. She knew what you had gone through just to tell her how you felt, how much courage it must’ve taken to lay your heart bare, while you were dying.

You weren’t entirely lying to her, you did have a mission coming up, it just wasn’t planned.

“Hey got another solo, if your up for it,” Nat proposed as she entered the training room, your fist rhythmically beating the punching bag.

“You know it,” you breathed, stopping the bag swinging.

“you leave in an hour,” she pursed a smile, dropping the file onto the bench next to your cold and forgotten coffee.

The mission had been simple enough on paper—intel gathering, no need for backup, in and out. You’d handled it alone plenty of times before, so it made sense that Steve signed off on this one without hesitation. What he didn’t know was how messy things had gotten.

You’d gone in hard and fast, ignoring the usual caution you’d been trained to follow. Maybe a part of you wanted it that way—needed the adrenaline, the distraction. You fought recklessly, pushing yourself further than you should’ve, not caring about the consequences. A knife wound here, slams into a couple walls there—it didn’t matter. You kept going, forcing yourself through the pain.

By the time you made it back to the jet, your body was screaming at you to stop, but you didn’t. You were trained for this, after all. No matter how bad the bleeding was, no matter how sharp the pain in your side, you forced yourself to pilot the jet back to the compound.

As you limped down the ramp, the pain finally caught up with you. Your side was drenched in blood, the makeshift bandage you’d wrapped around yourself soaked through. But still, you didn’t care. You just wanted to get back to your room and forget about everything. Forget about the pain in your body, and more importantly, the pain you couldn’t shake from your heart.

You didn’t think anyone noticed as you made your way through the compound, each step sending a fresh wave of agony through your body. But as you reached your door, your vision swam, and you realized you’d left a trail of blood behind you. That wasn’t great.

You managed to get inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet thud. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you glanced at the mission report in your hand, half-written and filled with details you barely remembered jotting down in the jet. You were too out of it to finish the thing properly, but at least you’d gotten it done. You tossed it aside, planning to sleep the pain off.

But then there was a knock on your door.

You didn’t need to open it to know who was on the other side. A cold dread settled in your stomach as Steve’s voice called out, “Y/n? Open the door.

You stood, slowly, wincing as the pain flared again, and opened the door just enough to see Steve standing there. His eyes immediately flickered down to the blood staining your clothes, then to the trail leading from the jet.

His expression shifted, brows knitting together. “What the hell happened?”

You forced a shrug, downplaying it. “Got the job done, didn’t I?”

Steve’s eyes hardened. “At what cost?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You tried to shut the door, but Steve pushed it open, stepping inside.

He stared at you, his jaw clenched tight, then glanced around the room—at the blood, at the half-done mission report, picking it up and looking it over “You didn’t say anything in your report about getting injured.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“Bleeding out isn’t relevant?” His voice was sharp now, frustration clear. “You’re limping, leaving a trail of blood through the entire compound, and you think it’s nothing?”

“It’s just a scratch,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone even, but the exhaustion and pain were getting to you. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Steve said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “This is about you being reckless. You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there, Clint’s already mentioned the other risks you’ve been taking.”

You turned on him, the anger rising in your chest. “What difference does it make? The mission was a success. I’m alive. Isn’t that what matters?”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you snapped, pulling away from him. “I’m doing my job.”

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, his tone sharper now. “You’re pushing yourself too far, and it’s not just today. “Look i don’t no what happened but ever since–,” He hesitated, his expression softening for a moment. “Ever since you and Wanda stopped hanging out, you’ve been different. You’re not thinking straight. You’re taking unnecessary risks, maybe you should talk to her…clear whatever it is up.”

You scoffed, turning away from him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Steve said, stepping closer again. “And I’m not going to sit by and watch you destroy yourself.”

You clenched your jaw, the frustration and anger boiling over. “You don’t get it, Steve. You don’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I know you’re hurting, y/n. But this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

You shook your head, trying to push down the rising emotion. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s concern. You’re part of this team, and right now, you’re a danger to yourself.”

You turned to face him, your chest tight with anger and frustration. “So what? You’re gonna bench me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not missing a beat. “I am.

Your heart sank, but the anger bubbled up again. “You can’t do that. You need me out there.”

“Not like this,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I’m pulling you from active duty until you get your head straight.”

You stared at him, the reality of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Steve—”

“You’re on probation, y/n,” Steve said, his voice final. “Until you deal with whatever’s going on in your head, you’re not going back out there. Not like this.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, and you fought back the urge to scream. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Without another word, you turned away from him, retreating into the bathroom to deal with your wounds. The sting of the alcohol on your skin was nothing compared to the frustration burning in your chest.

Steve lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before quietly stepping out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy weight of his decision. You were benched. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you even cared.

After dressing your wounds and enduring a scalding hot shower, you collapse onto your bed, too exhausted to even care about the fresh bruises or the burning pain in your side. Your mind is louder than the physical aches, churning with frustration, anger, and something deeper—something you don’t want to name.

You stare at the ceiling, willing your thoughts to quiet down, but the more you try to ignore it, the worse it gets. Wanda’s face flashes through your mind, the way she looked at you when you confessed. The way her expression twisted into something unreadable before she shut you down. The ache in your chest deepens, and you force your eyes shut, hoping sleep will take over.

But it never does.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock at the door.

You don’t move at first, thinking if you stay still enough, whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, softer this time, followed by a familiar voice.

“Y/n, it’s Nat. Can I come in?”

You hesitate, staring at the door. You know Natasha well enough to know she’ll come in whether you say yes or not, but there’s still a part of you that wants to push everyone away. You’re tired—tired of talking, tired of feeling.

With a sigh, you mumble, “Yeah, come in.”

The door creaks open, and Natasha slips inside, closing it behind her. She doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there for a moment, taking in the state of your room—the bloodstained clothes tossed aside, the half-empty med kit, the way you’re sprawled on the bed like you’ve given up.

“You look like hell,” she says finally, her voice soft but laced with concern.

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your gaze on the ceiling. “I feel great.

Natasha crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, her weight causing a slight dip that you barely register. She’s quiet for a moment, and you can feel her watching you, waiting for you to say something more, but when you don’t, she takes a deep breath.

“Steve told me about the mission. About the probation.”

You grit your teeth, the frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t need a lecture, Nat.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she replies calmly. “I’m here because I’m worried.”

You finally tear your gaze from the ceiling to look at her, seeing the genuine concern etched on her face. It’s the same expression you’ve seen a hundred times before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. In fact, it makes it harder. Because if Nat’s worried, that means everyone else is too. And that means they’ve all noticed how far you’ve spiraled.

“I’m fine,” you say, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because last I checked, ‘fine’ people don’t come back from missions bleeding all over the compound and locking themselves away in their rooms.”

You swallow hard, turning your head away from her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, y/n.” Her voice softens even more. “You’ve been different. Ever since… well, ever since Wanda. You’ve shut everyone out.”

Her name hits you like a punch to the gut, and you sit up abruptly, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharp.

Natasha’s face remains calm, but there’s something sympathetic in her gaze. “I know what’s going on between you two.”

Your chest tightens with both panic and frustration. “How do you even know what’s going on with me and Wanda?” you ask, your tone defensive, almost bitter. “What, did she tell you everything? Tell the whole team how I messed everything up by catching feelings?”

Natasha shakes her head slowly, her eyes softening even more. “She didn’t have to tell me. It’s been pretty obvious.”

You feel like someone’s ripped the ground out from under you. “What the hell does that mean?” you ask, standing up, pacing the room. “What’s obvious? That I was stupid enough to fall for my best friend? That I destroyed everything because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?”

“It’s not about you being stupid,” Natasha says gently. “You’re not stupid, y/n. And Wanda didn’t think that, either.”

You laugh bitterly, your chest tight and aching. “Then what was it, Nat? Because she sure didn’t make me feel like someone who had a chance. She didn’t make me feel like… like anything. Just told me she didn’t feel the same and—.”

Natasha stands up and crosses the room, moving to stand in front of you. “She lied, y/n. She didn’t reject you because she doesn’t feel the same. She rejected you because she’s scared.”

You stare at her, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “How could you know what she feels?”

Natasha doesn’t back down, her voice calm but insistent. “Because I’ve seen how she looks at you. We all have. Wanda’s terrified, y/n. She’s lost everyone she’s ever loved—her brother, Vision… She’s scared of loving you because she’s afraid of losing you, too.”

You freeze, her words hitting harder than you expected. The anger that had been boiling inside you starts to deflate, replaced with confusion and hurt. “fear makes people do stupid things,” Natasha continued softly “It makes them push away the people they care about most. You know that better than anyone.”

Her words hit too close to home, and you shake your head, trying to process everything. The self-hatred you’ve been drowning in, the isolation, the nightmares—it all starts to feel different.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You turn away from Natasha, your hands running through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t want to lose her, Nat. That’s what I was afraid of this whole time. And now it’s exactly what happened.”

Natasha steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You haven’t lost her. Not completely. But you’re both going to keep hurting like this until you talk to each other.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling raw and exposed in a way you hadn’t before, it could all become ten times worse if you talk to her and she just pushes you away more. “I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again.”

Natasha looks at you with a mixture of sympathy and strength. “You won’t know until you try.”

Steve knew something was wrong. He’d seen the tension between you and Wanda for weeks now, long enough to know it wasn’t just some temporary falling out. He had watched you slowly unravel, becoming more reckless on missions, more distant from the team, and he could tell it wasn’t just a professional matter. Something personal was tearing you apart.

And after today, after seeing the trail of blood you left from the jet to your room, he knew he couldn’t stand by any longer.

Steve found Wanda in the quiet of the compound’s common area, sitting by the window and staring out into the darkening sky. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her expression distant, but there was a sadness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

He approached her cautiously, his steps quiet but deliberate. “Wanda.”

She didn’t look at him right away, her gaze still fixed outside. “Steve.”

“Can we talk?” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to push too hard. She finally turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“What’s going on with you two?” Steve asked, cutting to the chase. He knew Wanda well enough to know she appreciated honesty over dancing around the subject. “Y/n’s not… they’re not themselves.”

Wanda’s face tightened, her shoulders stiffening as she looked away again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Steve sighed. “Wanda, you’re both avoiding each other. It’s affecting everything. Not just on missions but… it’s the whole compound,” he tried to tease but quickly saw it wasn’t the time, “I don’t think either of you are okay, it’s getting concerning.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, twisting around each other. Steve watched her, waiting patiently. He could tell she was holding back—he had seen it before in the way she carried herself, always guarded, always afraid to let too much slip.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt them, Steve.”

Steve frowned, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms. “What happened?”

Wanda hesitated, the weight of her guilt evident in every movement. “They told me… they told me they loved me.” She took a shaky breath, her voice wavering. “And I— I told them I didn’t feel the same.”

Steve’s eyes softened as he listened. “But that’s not true, is it?”

Wanda shook her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No. I love them. I love them more than anything. But I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself together. “I can’t lose them like I lost everyone else, Steve. I can’t go through that again.”

Steve watched her, the silence stretching between them before he spoke. “I know you’re scared. I know what it’s like to lose people you care about. But pushing them away? That’s only going to hurt you both even more.”

Wanda bit her lip, her breath hitching. “You don’t understand, Steve..”

“I think I do.” Steve’s voice was firm but kind. Wanda looked up at him, confused. “I lost Bucky, more times than I can count. I thought he was gone during the war, then I found him as the Winter Soldier. And every time I thought I had him back, something would happen. Hydra, the government, the Accords… it felt like I was always fighting to keep him in my life.”

Wanda’s expression softened slightly as she listened, her defenses lowering.

“But I never stopped fighting for him,” Steve continued, his voice steady. “Because the love I have for Bucky—it’s unconditional. Even if it was messy, even if it hurt, it was worth every second I got with him.”

Wanda’s eyes welled up with tears again, and she wiped at her cheeks, her hands trembling. “But what if I lose them, Steve? What if I love them, and then they get hurt, or worse—what if they die because of me?”

Steve stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You can’t live your life afraid of what might happen. Love is a risk, always. But it’s a risk worth taking. Because the time you spend pushing them away, that’s time you’re losing right now. You’re hurting them, and you’re hurting yourself.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her throat tight. She could feel the weight of her own fear pressing down on her, suffocating her, but Steve’s words rang true. Every moment she spent avoiding you, every time she told herself it was for the best, she was only making things worse.

Steve crouched down to be at eye level with her, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t know what the future holds, Wanda. None of us do. But I promise you, shutting them out is going to hurt a lot more than loving them ever will.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been so focused on her fear, on the possibility of losing you, that she hadn’t realized she was losing you right now. It was happening before her eyes, and it was her fault.

“I just… I don’t know if I can be that strong,” she whispered, her voice broken.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Steve said softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got us, and you’ve got them. But you have to take that step, Wanda. You have to let yourself love them.”

Wanda closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks as she nodded. She knew Steve was right. She had been running from her own feelings for too long, hiding behind the fear of losing you. But now she realized—by lying, she was already losing you.

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “Go find them. It’s not too late.”

Wanda took a deep breath, gathering what little courage she had left. She had to fix this. She had to find you, tell you the truth, and face whatever came next—because no matter how terrifying it was, losing you completely would be far worse.

You were back in the training room, throwing punches at the bag with reckless abandon. Each hit sent waves of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. It was easier to focus on the physical ache than the emotional storm swirling inside you. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind: Wanda loves you, but she’s scared.

Scared. You let out a bitter laugh, swinging another punch that nearly knocked the bag off its chain. Why didn’t she just tell you that? Why did she make you feel like you were out of your mind, like you were stupid for thinking she could ever love you back?

You wiped the sweat from your brow, breathing hard as your thoughts spun in circles. The truth had been right there all along, but instead of being honest, she had let you spiral. You weren’t even sure what you felt anymore—anger, hurt, maybe even guilt for forcing her into this position. You had laid your heart out for her, and she crushed it, all to protect herself.

Just as you were about to throw another punch, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Her presence was unmistakable, a warmth that always made you feel safe and now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“Y/n…” Wanda’s voice was soft, hesitant, and it made your skin prickle. You kept your back to her, clenching your fists as you tried to control the emotions bubbling to the surface.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” she continued, taking a cautious step closer. “But I—I need to explain.”

“Explain what?” You finally turned around, your voice sharp. “How you made me feel like an idiot? Like I imagined everything between us?”

Wanda flinched at your words, her eyes widening with guilt. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days—her eyes were rimmed with red, and her usually steady hands were trembling. “That’s not what I meant to do. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating.

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze pleading, but she still wouldn’t meet your eyes fully. “Y/n, please. It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” you snapped, your frustration finally boiling over. “Stop beating around the bush, Wanda. Tell me the truth. Just say it.”

She opened her mouth but hesitated again, her eyes flicking away from yours. You let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “For once, just be honest with me. You owe me that.”

There was a long pause, and you could see the conflict in her eyes, the way her whole body tensed as if she was fighting herself. Finally, she took a deep breath, her voice shaky but louder now. “I lied to you. About everything.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

Wanda took a step closer, her eyes brimming with tears as she finally let her guard down. “I lied. When I said I didn’t love you—I was lying.” Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’ve been lying to myself, to you… I’ve been so scared of losing you that I thought it was better to push you away.”

Your mind was reeling, trying to process her words. You took a step back, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions—anger, relief, confusion. “So you do love me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda nodded, tears falling freely now. “Yes. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was terrified.” She wiped at her cheeks, her breathing uneven. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you too. So I did the only thing I knew how to do—I pushed you away.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure. “I told you I loved you, and you made me feel like a fool. I was terrified too, Wanda. I didn’t want to lose you, but I had to tell you because—because I couldn’t keep pretending. My feelings for you—they consumed me.”

Wanda took another step closer, her hand reaching out but hovering in the space between you, afraid to touch you. “I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting both of us, but I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as all the pain you had been holding back came rushing out. “You were my best friend, Wanda. My best friend. And I lost you the moment I opened my mouth.

Wanda’s face crumpled, her own tears falling faster now. “You didn’t lose me. I was the one who messed everything up. I was scared, and I made all your worst fears come true.”

There was a long silence as the two of you stood there, both of you crying, both of you broken by the weight of your own fears. Finally, Wanda moved closer, closing the distance between you, her hand finally resting on your arm. Her touch was tentative, soft, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not like this.”

You looked into her eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability there, and it broke something inside you. All the anger, the frustration—it melted away in that moment, leaving only the overwhelming love you had always felt for her.

Without thinking, you reached down and cupped her face in your hands, pulling her close. Wanda’s breath hitched as your lips crashed together, a mix of tears and desperation. The kiss was soft but intense, full of everything you had both been holding back for so long. It was tender, warm, but laced with the pain of everything you had gone through.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, both of you pouring your hearts into it, trying to mend what had been broken. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, both of you breathing hard, tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice raw but full of conviction. “I’ve always loved you.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid to let go. “I love you too. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You pulled her into a tight embrace, burying your face in her hair, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Wanda nodded against your chest, her arms tightening around you. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your voice full of the kind of love that you knew would last forever.

The two of you stood there, holding each other, the weight of the past weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you could breathe again. The fear, the pain—it was still there, but it didn’t matter. Not when you had her in your arms.

“Come on, you need a shower and some rest,” she mumbled tearfully.

“Are you saying I stink,” you joked hands going to her own.

She smiled, missing your childish jokes, “I’m saying we’re both exhausted and I’ve missed cuddling with you.” she pulled you towards the exit as you laughed following her, “and Steve told me what happened..Idiot,” she finished as you mumbled something about hitting steve.

Eventually, you both made your way back to your room, neither of you wanting to be apart any longer, you took a brief shower as Wanda found a movie to play. You curled up together on your bed, Wanda resting her head on your chest, her arms wrapped around you like she was afraid to let you go, legs tangled together.

As you both drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, the nightmares seemed far away. For the first time in weeks, you felt peace. Wanda was with you, and that was all that mattered.

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — yakuza!bakugou + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — angst, fluff, sfw. bakugou leaves the yakuza for you and it hurts for him to realise how much he loves you. gn!reader.

katsuki bakugou never grovels. he never cries.

he can’t remember the last time he felt tears in his eyes. it must’ve been back when he was a kid, when his parents kicked him out and put him on the street— when the adults in his life failed him time and time again or when he’d gone so long without food he could barely lift a finger let alone keep his eyes open.

“i need an out, boss.” bakugou fights back a sob, head bowed so low that his chest feels tight and blood rushes to the top of his skull. his blood red eyes sting like they’ve been doused with acid rain, his lips quiver faster than he can keep up with— katsuki can’t remember the last time he cried and begged for mercy like this. “can’t go on like this.”

he feels pathetic, more than he ever has in his entire life. much worse than when his boss had taken him into the family, beaten some sense into him and taken a chance on a ruthless kid that ruled the streets with nothing but murder on his mind.

“and why’s that, first lieutenant?” jeanist, the head of the family and the closest thing the blonde has to an old man, asks— seated across from him on the tatami flooring, swaddled in his robes.

katsuki hates this feeling of pain that lodges itself in his chest and blossoms like the sakura trees representing his yakuza family crest. the pain of having to choose what he knows and loves and the love that the future holds for him. he’s not felt pain like this in a long time— emotional, mental pain. physically…he’s been through a lot worse, taken had metal pipes to the head and ribs, stab wounds and bullet wounds galore too. heck, even the yakuza tattoos bound to his wrists ( that seem more like shackles more and more each day ) hurt a fuck tonne.

but nothing is more agonising than seeing the emotional pain katsuki’s inflicted on you.

his knuckles turn white as he grips the fabric covering his knees— grinding his teeth, holding his breath, willing himself not to fucking cry. “i finally got somethin’— someone— damn worth livin’ for,” katsuki spits out, shifting the words around underneath his tongue. bitter and thick as if he’s swallowed a cap full of bleach. “they need me. beg me to come home in one piece. cry when ‘m cut up and bruised, harder when my knuckles bleed.”

“you’re in love,” the old man whispers from in front of him, wistful and wise. katsuki doesn’t speak for a while, he doesn’t have the strength to deny it.

because it’s true, he loves you more than he loves the thrill— the rush of being alive, being a part of this family where no tomorrow is guaranteed. he loves you more and hates the part of him that came home to you beaten and bruised, a bloody pulp so selfishly asking for your help because your hands were soft and you spoke to him softer. katsuki hadn’t seen the tears in your eyes back then, he hadn’t known how much he was hurting you. but when you ask him to make a choice between his family, the yakuza and yourself…

well, the answer is simple. the answer is always you.

“i’m in love,” katsuki repeats, admitting the truth. to his boss and to himself. he’s always known that he loved you, as clear as day, as true as fact— you make cherry blossoms bloom in his chest when his heart stops just from seeing you. you make his world come to a stop just by looking at him— is if you’ve stopped it’s rotation just so he could spend a little extra time with you. katsuki would die for you, but you’d want him to live for you instead.

and he wants to live for you too, wants to live to see you smile.

“i need an out, boss, please just give me a way out,” bakugou sucks back a sob, breathing uneven and shaky. “i need ya to let me go so i can protect ‘em better, be there for them. put a ring on their finger and keep them safe.”

best jeanist let’s a hand fall to straw blonde locks, patting the lieutenant on the head affectionately. “you’ve done a lot for this family, katsuki. i can’t ask you to stay when all you’ve done is put your life on the line for us.” he says, fond of the boy he raised and the man that he’s become. “be free, look after them. they’re your family now.”

katsuki lets out a relieved, strangled breath of thanks and best jeanist hums.

katsuki bakugou never grovels, he never cries but tonight he does. because when it comes to you his emotions are uncontrollable, strewn all about the place.

even the strongest, most dangerous men fall— and it just so happens that katsuki bakugou, a member of the yakuza, had fallen for you.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Heartbeat

Ao3 link

- T-rated

- Summary: With his brother restored and Amestris saved, Edward has a moment to reflect on the events of the day.

(Or a missing scene of the night of the Promised Day)

————————

Ed can’t sleep.

By all intents and purposes he should be able to. After the day he’s had he should be absolutely exhausted. And he is. Bone deep, crippling, and mind numbing — tiredness tugs at him, begging him to collapse into its waiting arms.

But something holds him back. Something keeps him staring up at the ceiling instead.

(Maybe, it’s all the stuff he needs to process. You know, like being used to kill everyone in Amestris and losing Al and getting his arm back and then getting him back and giving up his alchemy and beating a guy who looks a hell of a lot like Hohenheim within an inch of his life.)

(Ha. Yeah. He’ll deal with all that later.)

There’s really nothing to do in hospitals besides sleep, though. So, now he’s bored out of his mind.

Ed shifts slightly, sighing through his nose. A stray strand of hair drifts upward with the exhale and he watches as it flutters back down toward his face. Another, harder breath sends it skittering up again, then back down to smack him in the nose. That…gets annoying quickly. He tucks it behind his ear and reverts to gazing at the ceiling.

An activity that is more than a little boring.

He’s more than used to hospitals by now. But that doesn’t mean he likes them.

The darkness of the room lessens the pristine, glaring, and, honestly, hideous white of the walls and floor. It cannot, however, rid it of the strong smell of antiseptic. Better than blood, he guesses, which is what he’s been smelling all day — well, that and the stench of his sweat, pungent from nerves and emotion.

At least, now he’s had a chance to shower, stinging though the water may have been on his many wounds. At least, now the meds the doctors gave him have finally kicked in, numbing the incessant ache of everything.

(It’s decidedly different having two flesh arms packed with nerves rather than one and a stump with a hell of a lot of phantom and nerve pain. He’s gotta admit that it’ll take some getting used to.)

…so will the sight of Al.

Ed turns his head, a smile lifting his lips as his gaze comes to rest on his brother a short ways away. He lies in his own hospital bed, covered by the thin blankets (plus the more plush one Mei had draped over him before she had left so the two of them could rest). His eyes are closed, his face drawn with exhaustion.

Various wires snake up from where his arms rest beneath the covers — IVs and monitors and Truth only knows what else. He breathes out, mouth opening slightly, cheek pressed into the pillow. He’s so thin and small, so frail. Something within Ed clenches painfully.

He was always so intent on getting their bodies back that he never truly thought about what Al would look like once he was no longer bound to the suit of armor. The image of Al that had stuck in his head was a ten year old boy — grinning as he cheered for Granny’s stew, smiling as he listened to Ed’s endless chatter, blushing as he asked Winry if she would marry him.

(Screaming and sobbing as he reached out, Ed’s name on his lips, black hands on his skin, tearing him apart.)

But really, he had known. Somewhere deep within he had expected it. A healthy body couldn’t possibly await them in that endless white. It has been five years since they attempted to bring back Mom. Five long years. They’re lucky that Al isn’t worse off.

They’ll deal with this though, he assures himself as he finally tears his gaze from his brother’s peacefully slumbering form. Together. Just like they’ve dealt with everything so far.

Ed grins, pointedly ignoring the rare, traitorous, burn behind his eyes.

Yeah. Together.

He sighs and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow after he gets some freaking sleep.

He drifts far closer this time, exhaustion almost winning out over everything swirling in his mind. But before he manages to fully lose himself there is a clatter nearby. Instantly, he’s up again, shoving himself up on his forearms and scanning the room for the disturbance.

…which turns out to be his brother who is awake and trying to cross the room to him.

“Al!” Ed squawks, leaping up so fast his head swims. “You idiot! You’re gonna fall over! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Al gives him an unaffected grin as Ed wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s cold. I wanted to be next to you, brother.”

Ed helps him onto the bed, heart stuttering slightly at the feeling of Al’s very human warmth beneath his hands. A reminder that they have succeeded. Finally, they have succeeded.

“You coulda just asked for another blanket.”

He tucks the blankets that were his two seconds ago over Al (the little bandit). Then, he climbs in himself, careful not to jostle his brother.

“Those monitors and stuff were hooked up to you for a reason, you know. You’re gonna have the doctors racing in here thinking I murdered you in your sleep or something.”

Al chuckles. With a sigh, he tugs the blankets higher, until they’re nestled beneath his chin.

“It’ll be fine, brother. They know us well enough by now to know you wouldn’t murder me in my sleep. And you’ve taken those monitors off many times.”

Ed lifts an eyebrow. “So, I can’t judge you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Al merely smiles. Ed lies down with a huffed chuckle.

“Fine. But” — He surveys his space on the bed with a frown — “scoot over will you? How do you manage to take up this much room? You’re tiny!”

“I learned from the best.”

Ed chokes on a slightly enraged laugh. “Even you, my dear brother? Have you noticed that I’m taller than you now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Al closes his eyes, a serene smile on his face. “By a whole inch.”

“Hey! It’s more than-than an inch!! Way more!”

His brother doesn’t reply, but mischief practically emanates off of him.

The little bastard.

Truth, Ed loves him.

After a moment more, Al shifts, maneuvering himself a little farther from Ed, giving him room to shimmy beneath the sheets his brother hasn’t snatched. But he’s still close, close enough that his body is up against Ed’s, that heart-wrenching warmth able to be felt through his thin tank.

“How…how does it feel?” He asks, quietly, tone somber and slightly hesitant.

For a short while Al doesn’t answer. The silence is peaceful though, and Ed is willing to wait. They have all the time in the world now.

And how about that? For the first time in five years they aren’t racing against a ticking time bomb.

For the first time in five years they can just…live.

“It feels…” Al begins and Ed glances over at him. His brother’s eyes are open again and he has a slight frown on his face as he grasps for the words. “It feels wonderful.”

He holds a hand up, fingers spread as he inspects it.

“I have a cut on my finger. Or I did earlier. It’s so small it’s practically gone now. And I’m not even sure where I got it from. But I felt it. Brother, I felt pain. And it was wonderful.”

He drops his hand and looks at Ed, eyes wide and a grin on his lips. “I guess it’s a bit strange to say I enjoyed such a sensation. But…it’s been so long.”

Ed swallows. “Yeah.”

“I feel so many things now,” Al continues, face practically shining like the sun. “This blanket, the warmth of the sun…and you.”

Al’s hand finds his, grasping it firmly. Ed’s breath stutters, now.

Damn it, he’s gonna cry isn’t he. He almost never cries and yet…

“You have a heartbeat now, too.” It comes out in a hushed, almost-whisper. “Can you…can you feel that?”

Al doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings Ed’s hand up to rest on his chest. He spreads his fingers so that his palm lies flat right above here his heart should be. Sure enough, there is a steady thump, pulsing onward like a marching soldier.

Ed’s breath hitches, audibly this time, and he curses himself for it.

“Can you feel it, brother?” Al asks, and Ed nods, jerkily. “Here, you can hear it too.”

With gentle hands, Al guides Ed’s head to replace his hand on his chest. Ed tenses as his face touches the soft cotton of Al’s shirt. In his current state, even this much weight may hurt him. But Al just chuckles.

“Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me. You're small, remember?”

“Enough with the height comments already!”

Ed’s face dips into a scowl. But he allows himself to relax slightly.

…and then even more as the thud of blood pumping in and out of arteries reaches his ear.

He chokes out something like a sob, hand fisting in the blanket.

“Do you hear it?” It’s only a whisper, as though Al is afraid of shattering this moment too.

“Mm-hmm.”

His brother’s heart continues to beat, almost in time with his breaths. A tear slides down his face, hot and fast. Seconds later, another follows it. He slams his eyes shut, hoping it will stem the flood. It doesn’t.

Damn it.

He hadn’t meant to break down. But if it was gonna happen, he guesses today would be the day. He’s already done it, after all. Sobbing your eyes out on the freaking battlefield doesn’t bode well for maintaining emotional stability the rest of the day.

“Oh, brother.” There is a smile in Al’s voice. He cards his fingers through Ed’s hair. “Why are you crying?”

Ed breathes out shakily. He’s almost certain snot is running down his face now, joining with the salty water. But he finds he doesn’t really care. Because these…these tears are tears of joy. And when was the last time he cried those?

It’s been way too freaking long, that’s for sure.

“I’m glad you're back, Al,” he murmurs, thickly.

Al sighs and Ed feels that too — the lifting and filling of his lungs, the gentle collapse as they release.

“We did it, brother.”

The tears keep coming, trickling down in warm rivulets that gather in his hair and slide down his neck. But Ed smiles.

“Yeah, we did it.”

[ashley-foster-13]

Imagine if Thomas was a mortal in Faerie

[1]

They swept across the room, eyes glued to each other, small smiles playing across their lips.

"What would you do if I hurt you?" Teresa asked, her skirts swaying behind her in a cloud of deep purple. "Isn't that a test of love?"

Thta wasn't the first time Thomas notice something off about her. Sure, he was attracted to her. Her long brown curls, her thin lips like a pale rose, her ocean eyes, that sly glint in them. Her fragile, gracious figure. Her not so fragile character.

Yet something wasn't quite right.

"Would you cry?" she asked as they turned another circle, "Would you kill? Would you bleed for me, Thomas?"

Yes. Definitely not right.

"If you hurt me," he began carefully, weighing every word, "I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back."

He didn't mean it as an insult but, judging by the way she looked at him, Thomas might have put some cautiousness in his voice that made her uneady.

[2]

"Time to change partners," a voice from behind startled them both but in Thomas it awoken a different kind of anger.

Newt.

Since the beginning, he's been mean to Tom. Always mocking, kicking, humiliating. Doing everything to show him that he was nothing. A mortal.

"Oh, did I steal your line?" the blond prince asked as he placed his hand on Thomas's waist and caught his other arm, clutching a bit harder than necessary.

Sometimes, Thomas wondered if he was mistaken in them both.

[3]

Thomas barely held back a gasp as Alby's fist connected with Newt's jaw.

He stumbled backwards, falling on his back. But Alby wasn't finished.

Alby was the first of the princes and, apparently, the only one who agreed to take care of the youngest one. Although "taking care" is far away from the truth, he did give him proper clothes and enough food and a decent bed, not to mention other privileges. It had to count for something.

And wine. Lots of wine.

Alby straddled Newt, holding some sort of wooden sword. Thomas had a weird urge to reveal himself and shove Albert off of the prince.

What a weird thought.

Newt was so cruel to him. Part of Thomas wanted some sweet revenge.

But when the sword hit Newt's leg over and over again, making him yell in pain, Thomad felt strange sympathy towards the guy.

He didn't deserve that much of a punishment.

[4]

Minho, Thomas's older brother, met his mortal life love.

Minho wasn't technically his brother. They had different fathers, so the guy was magical. A Faerie.

Thomas did get jealous of him a lot. He never got to be thrown in ragwart horses poop at lunch. Twice that week.

What surprised Thomad was that Harriet, the girl he met, willingly excepted every weird thing about their family.

For example, Janson, their Faerie father, the bloody redcap.

Thomas was pretty sure Minho used glamour on her. He didn't approve of it, but it's not like he had any say in that either.

[5]

When Thomas was introduced to the Court of Grievers, it was rather surprising.

There were three of them. Jorge did most of the pickpocketing. Brenda brewed poisons and, occasionally, antidotes. Aris taught him slyfooting.

All of them served to prince Gally. Generous at times, but mostly strict. Once, he made Thomas shoot his own shoulder to prove himself. The wound still stings.

Also, Thomas discovered mithridatism. he would inject himself Griever Serum every night. Weird visions came to him at night, depriving of sleep. It was worth it, though.

[6]

Newt: by you, i am forever undone

Newt: kiss me again. kiss me until i am sick of it

Newt: my sweet nemesis, my darling god

Newt: to all betrayers and rule breakers, i offer my husband's hospitality. the hospitality of guns

Thomas: i hate you. i hate you, i hate you i hate you.

Thomas: the true king of elfhame

Teresa: isn't that a test of love?

Teresa: let me run more tests!

Minho: I'd offer our king some tea instead of wine, but I'm not sure which one will suit him best.

Jorge: he'll look gorgeous with both

Brenda: Thomas. Thomas suits him best. Serve both.

[bravevolunteer]

anonymous asked: Favorite thing about your dad? // ask michael about peepaw english willy

MICHAEL HATES THE QUESTION. He hates the way it makes his stomach churn, the overflow of memories that feel harder to categorize than the wounds... the bittersweet. Much of it is hazy ( good memories like blurry beams of light between fog ), but they exist, and the ugly truth that lies beneath all the bitterness is the reason why it stings so great in the first place: Michael loves him. He really does... did, he doesn't know.

He sighs, and allows the memories to wash over him. "I, uh... I know what I thought was my favorite thing. I always thought he was so... strong, and smart, and powerful. It made me want to act like him. Which— fucking backfired, obviously, but... I don't think that was my favorite thing." William Afton's strength, while... protective, commanded fear all the same, dampened emotions... intimidated. Before resentment seeped into their relationship or not, it wasn't as safe as he convinced himself it was. "I think... it was when he dropped the mask. When he'd joke around with us, or practice some stupid Bonnie routine, or... I sat in the workshop sometimes. He'd do his work... and I'd draw, and it was the comfortable kinda quiet. I showed him my drawings and— I was a kid, they were shit, but sometimes he actually looked at them like I'd be something." The rare real laughter. Not the businessman, not the performer. That was his favorite thing.

[i-would-have-come-for-you]

Can't love you in the dark - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Plant a memory garden

_________

For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.

­The Hunger Games

________________

The last two days had been a blur.

Hinata was pacing around the spacious room she had been confined in for the last day and a half. It was decorated minimally but tastefully. There was a king sized bed of rich wood in the center, headboard leaning against the back wall, blue Egyptian cotton sheets with floral patterns adorning the mattress. A side table was placed on its right, a white modern lamp on it. There was small round table placed near the wall closest to the door, two plush chairs on either side of it. A smaller door led to the attached bathroom.

There were no pictures adorning the walls, the small accessories that had been strewn across the room once were gone. The closet built into the wall was empty of anything except for spare blankets. But Hinata still recognized Sasuke’s old bedroom.

She wondered why he had chosen to keep her a prisoner in his family’s old compound in the Uchiha District. One would think he would throw her inside a dungeon and never look back, from the way he had looked when he brought her here.

She wondered if it was muscle memory that had made him bring her here, into his old bedroom in the compound that he had grown up in alongside his family. Was it was instinct to seek out familiar places when life struck you with such an unexpected and painful wound?

His family was gone, she thought, and she felt the ghost of their presence in the heavy silence that surrounded her.

She stopped pacing with newfound desperation and started banging on the door again, much like she had been doing for the entire time she had been here.

“Sasuke!” she called, “Open this door! Let me out right now,”

There was no response and she banged harder, feeling pain shoot up her hand. “OPEN THE DOOR,” she yelled, tears lacing her voice.

There was still no answer and she felt desperation claw inside her. “Please, open the door. Let me see my son,”

Again, no one answered. She let her tears flow down her cheeks as she sunk down on the floor, leaning her forehead against it. “Bring me my son,” she whispered to herself as she cried.

___________

“Hello sweetheart, did you miss me?” he crooned with mocking in his voice.

“Sasuke,” she whispered her eyes wide and her heart hammering against her chest. How was this possible? What was he doing here? How did he find her?

The smirk on his face dimmed when she said his name and he stood up straight. He turned his head and looked around the kitchen, as if he hadn’t already.

“Cozy place you’ve got here,” he remarked. “Are you trying out minimalism?”

Hinata felt the sting. This humble place she’d set up for herself through the years she’d been here was nothing compared to the home she’d had with Sasuke in Konoha, but it was enough for her.

“Something like that,” she muttered. In truth, she was already spinning possibilities in her mind.

How did he find her? And If he knew about her…did he know about Daiki? It was easy enough to find someone you knew inside and out, but he didn’t know Daiki existed and if not then she could still-

She was feeling afraid. Of him. Of the blank look in his eyes behind his smirk. Of the way his eyes were taking her in as if they were hungry.

But she also could not stop looking at him; he was real, not a dream. He was flesh and bone, his beautiful pale face, sharp angles and elegant lines; his lean build and the regality with which he always carried himself; his pianist’s hands which touched a gun like they could draw music from the deadly metal.

“What are you doing here, Sasuke?” she asked, still not closing the distance between them, but dragging her gaze upwards to look at his eyes.

“Looking for a miracle,” he muttered, more distracted than focused, his gaze dipping to her collarbone and then back up to her face. “And it looks like I found one,”

“You need to-”

“Where’s the kid?” he asked, eyes darkening as he slowly advanced.

Hinata’s blood chilled. He knew. If she was afraid, she was positively terrified now as she backed away and ran. She wasn’t going to let him take her son from her.

She could hear his steps behind her. She had the advantage that she knew her way around the house and he didn’t. She made it to Daiki’s room and locked the door behind her, barely making it before Sasuke.

“Hinata,” he called from the other side. “Open the door,”

She could feel the adrenaline. She looked around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There were only Daiki’s toys here. Fuck. She should have gone to get her gun from her bedroom before coming here.

But then he would have found Daiki and she couldn’t have done anything.

And she knew she could never hurt Sasuke. The gun would have been useless anyways.

She started looking for a way out before Sasuke inevitably burst through the door. She knew him asking her to open the door was simply courtesy.

Another bang against the door. “Open the door Hinata,” he called, impatience lacing his voice. “You know this can’t hold me,”

“You need to leave us alone,” she told him from the other side. “Go back,”

She heard him laugh. “You’ve been left alone long enough sweetheart,” his voice called, full of promise. “You’re coming back with me now,”

She went to Daiki’s window and opened it, looking out of it to see if she could possibly take him and make a run for it. The window was high up, but she wouldn’t be injured too severely if-

The door slammed against the wall as the lock broke. Sasuke looked severely pissed off as he stalked inside the room, straight towards the small bed and stood in front of it. Hinata rushed towards the bed from the window.

But Sasuke made no move to grab her or Daiki, as he stood and watched the little boy- who was still miraculously asleep despite all the noise. Hinata’s heart ached at the wonder on his face as he looked at their son.

“What’s his name?” he asked, leaning down and gently touching the little boy’s cheek.

“Daiki,” she whispered, despite her fear, despite her worry.

They both didn’t say anything as he watched their son quietly, his face blank.

Sasuke stood like that for a while before he straightened; his eyes harsh. “Gather what you need before I burn down this place. We’re leaving,”

________________

Hinata wasn’t aware of dozing off, but she woke abruptly when there was movement against the surface she was asleep on. She realized she was asleep leaning against the door, and that someone was trying to push it open.

She scrambled back on her hands and feet as the door opened, revealing a dark haired figure. She expected it to be her husband, who had been the one who drag her to the room in the darkness of the night and had left her there.

Instead, Shikamaru stood there. The boy she had known in college was still somewhere in his looks, even if his hair was longer and he had a small goatee now.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked as greeting as he came inside, carrying a takeout paper-bag. It smelled delicious and Hinata realized she hadn’t eaten anything in the time she’d been here.

“Shikamaru,” she said, tasting his name on her tongue after so long, before she scrambled up and despite everything, pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened, before she felt him wrap his free arm around her, returning her embrace. “Hey Hinata,”

They stood like that for a minute, before Hinata lowered herself from her tiptoes and stepped back. “What are you doing here?” she asked. It was strange, if pleasant, to see him here. He had been a political advisor the last time she had seen him almost 3 and a half years ago. To see him here, as if he were a lackey of her husband’s organization was strange.

“Oh right,” he told her, closing the door firmly behind him and placing the takeout bag on the round table. “I work with Sasuke now,”

She noticed how he didn’t say for. He displayed an equal working relationship.

“What?”

He shrugged. “The political situation in this city’s fucked up enough as it is. Sasuke’s a good boss,”

Hinata felt her breath catch. “Then you know where Daiki is,” she whispered. “Shikamaru, please…help me. I’ll take him and disappear. I won’t be any trouble. Just…take me to him,”

His face hardened. “I can’t do that,”

“He’s my son,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“He’s also Sasuke’s son,” Shikamaru told her firmly. “What you did to him was fucked up,”

Hinata felt her temper rise, despite knowing Shikamaru was the only one who would be showing her kindness anytime soon.

“You found us,” she whispered. “You told him about Daiki,”

Shikamaru didn’t contradict her. “He had to know,”

“You couldn’t have left us in peace,” she said while shoving Shikamaru. He stepped back.

“I didn’t come here to argue, Hinata,” he said, sighing. “I came to give you this,” he gestured to the food “And to tell you that Daiki’s okay,”

“Then why won’t he let me see him?”

“Because he doesn’t really trust you anymore,” Shikamaru said with the anger returning. “He’ll come and talk to you once he’s not preoccupied with other things. He’ll decide what to do with you then,”

Hinata didn’t say anything else as she watched the genius boy she’d grown up with leave her behind with a coldness that surprised her.

She thought about what Shikamaru had said. Sasuke would decide what to do with her once he wasn’t preoccupied with other tasks. It was as if she was an old possession he didn’t know what to do with anymore. Sasuke would be her judge, jury and executioner.

And she knew him well enough to know that his sentence would never be kind.

The door locking sounded like a death sentence.

_______________

Author Note: I see everyone getting a general idea about what happened. Let me know your thoughts and theories. Do comment down and reblog because it inspires me to write :)

[countlessrealities]

Request or randomized kisses meme || No longer accepting

@dynamoprotocol sent: Hard mode: kissy number 4 for post-break up verse

{ 4: Forehead Kiss }

There was a part of Rick, one little voice buried very deeply that probably belonged to the common sense he had forsaken a long time before, who knew that this was a bad idea. After all, this wasn't the first time that he broke into Clarissa's workshop in the middle of the night either to make a mess or to start a fight or just for the sake of it. Usually what drove him there was spite or misdirected anger or a stronger need to harm himself than the usual. Other times, it was some other, completely randoms reason.

What never changed, however, was how it ended. Whether he was caught red-ended or found out the next day, whether he found her awake or woke her up, whether he knew what he was doing or not, it always ended in the same way.

Yelling, accusations, snarled insults, mutually inflicted pain. What was inevitably left on their tongue was the bitterness of a wound that had healed wrong, scarred into an aching mark that they had never stopped scratch and prodding. Now that their pasts had crossed again even more than ever.

If asked, Rick would have lied and said that he didn't know why he kept doing it, why he kept going back despite knowing what awaited for him. The truth, the same truth he refused to acknowledge, was that Rick enjoyed that particular agony. He liked how its stinging remained behind, haunting the back of his mind. He revelled in how it constricted his chest, making it harder to breathe.

That night, however, was different. He wasn't being driven by resentment or self-loathing or a craving for personal torment. He wasn't even drunk as he usually was. On the contrary, he was just a little tipsy. Intoxicated enough to have the courage of chasing a certain feeling, but not even close to not being in control.

He was self-aware, lucid, and longing.

The room was almost completely dark and Rick stood in his spot for a few moments, waiting for his eyes to adapt now that the vibrant green of the portal had vanished. He could have turned out the night vision function of his cybernetic eye, but he decided against it, knowing that he would be needing those few moments of quietness to steady himself.

Once he started to move, heading for the light that filtered from under the door that lead to the adjacent room, he could couldn't help but grimacing at how loud his steps seemed. He was aware that it was just an illusion that his restless mind was creating, out of nervousness, because he was being quiet, especially compared to how he had been all the other times, clumsy feet hitting the floor too heavily and knocking things down.

Yet, despite that rational awareness, he couldn't help the apprehension that grew a little inside his chest at every noise.

The whispered woosh of the automatic door echoed deafeningly in his ears and he had to shut his eyes closed for a moment, dazed by the sound. Perhaps he was drunker than he had thought. Or maybe he had accidentally taken something without realising it. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Ice blue eyes landed on the figure hunched over one of the work tables, arms crossed on its metal surface and head resting over them. She was asleep, just as Rick had been hoping.

Swallowing lightly, he slowly walked over, careful not to bump into anything. The last thing he wanted was to wake her up. If that had happened, yet another fight would have exploded and he was too tired...so tired...to deal with that sort of crap.

He stopped once he had reached her, keeping a little distance between them not to disturb her slumber. Clarissa looked exhausted, and it was easy to guess that she had been pouring over whatever project she was working on, forgetting to eat and sleep. They had always been very similar under that point of view.

So many shared bad habits, unhealthy behaviours, harmful vices. And they had done nothing but enabling them in each other.

The silence stretched, bothered only by the light sound of their breathing, as he simply stood there, watching her intensely, as if he had been trying to memorise her features and the lines of her body all over again. All the times they had been close, all the times he had seen her bare, all the times he had touched her, smelled her, taste her...Those memories couldn't be used anymore. Not only because of the years that had passed, but mostly because there was one abyssal difference between then and now, a difference that changed everything.

She was no longer his. He had had it, with her strength and her rough beauty and her bright electric fire, and he had lost her. Just as he had lost, over and over, each and every important thing in his life.

A sudden tightness gripped at his stomach, so abruptly and hard that he had to clench his teeth to muffle the startle sound that had come to his lips. It was an odd feeling, but he easily recognised it, as he had felt it many times before. A mixture of suffocating nausea and insatiable anger. The craving for something he yearned for but that he couldn't have, that he shouldn't have.

His hand lingered mid-air, fingers itching to touch those thick blue locks and cling to them as if they had been the last lifeline he had left, but he resisted that urge. Instead, he shuffled closer, as silent as a ghost, and bent down, pressing the lightest, even if lingering kiss on the side of her forehead.

Loving her had been a mistake, especially after how all his other serious relationships had ended. He had willingly drank and drank from a cup that he knew would eventually poison them both, ignoring that they were running on borrowed time.

And looked at them now, all scars and shattered pieces, aching for something that could never be again, if not in the form of bitterness and regret.

Yet, deep down, Rick knew that he would have done it all over again, even knowing how it would end, for the mere sake of experiencing that mind-blowing spark of ecstasy that had once burnt between them.

Slowly, he straightened up, ignoring the growing stinging in his eyes as he turned on his heels to return to the backroom. He couldn't linger, he shouldn't have been there in the first place. No matter how much he wished to stay.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from shooting one last look over his shoulder, once he was on the threshold. No surprise there, because that was what he always did, wasn't it? Dragging the past he was chained to in the present, just to watch it repeating itself over and over again.

One last thought touched his mind as the green vortex swallowed him. Perhaps, Clarissa had been right, all those years before. He was the hypocrite, always judging, always holding himself above everyone else. And yet, all the people he had met and known had moved on, one way or the other.

Everyone but him.

[petrifiedcrange]

The frantic energy that seemed to take hold of Izzy just moments ago is draining as quickly and unexpectedly as it came, and he collapses heavily, bonelessly back to the deck, to the mess of the naval coats that make up the makeshift bedding ( and isn't that ironic, that he is dying lying on discarded naval coats from a stray shot of a minor ponce commanding the British navy, when he probably should have died years ago in that raid, on that ship he served, when he met Edward, when in a way he did, the old him, the Navy officer, and was reborn as Izzy Hands, the Blackbeard's right hand... and now he was reborn with the help of a crew that accepted him like a family again as someone else, the unicorn, the ship's half-mythical protector, or maybe he went back to who he initially was, before Edward and the Navy, but it’s been too long and he doesn't quite remember what he was like back then ) but doesn't let go of Edward's hand, not yet.

He'll hold on for as long as he can, as a little dying comfort for himself.

Edward doesn't promise ( and seriously, why would he think he would? Edward doesn't make promises unless they mean something vile but that's not Edward, that's Blackbeard and Izzy hopes that that bastard is finally dead for good the same way he doesn't apologise... Izzy hopes he'll honor his wish nevertheless, later, after... ), he tells him he can't leave, and Izzy closes his eyes momentarily against the sting, because he wants to cry and he wants to laugh, because life doesn't work that way.

He can't stay just because his captain orders him to.

The world, life itself are not gonna bend to Edward's will and let him live just because Edward wants him.

And oh, he thought he made peace with a lot of things lately, but this hurts like a bitch, far worse than his wound, because suddenly, after all this time of him being ignored, brushed off, exiled, bossed around like he is supposed to follow Edward's every whim after he fucking left him for another man he knew for all of five seconds and Izzy warned him was a bad idea and Edward still left and got his heart broken and came back like nothing happened, punished, tortured, maimed, turns out, on his deathbed, that Edward doesn't want anyone else but him?

Well, tough luck, because life doesn't work like that, doesn't bend to Edward's every whim ( to be fair, it’s Izzy's fault that he thinks it does, he spent too much time making Edward believe it does, when it was him, just him, all along ).

Izzy takes a shuddering breath, with his eyes still closed because he doesn’t want to see Edward right now, because he still loves him and wants to comfort him but it’s too much, the old hurts all coming to the surface, and he needs a moment to compose himself, and lets it out slowly.

He's hurting. He's tired. He wants it all to end.

A memory flashes in his mind, of a gun pressed to his temple, but he doesn't regret not going back then, because if he did, he wouldn't know the joy of being accepted and maybe even loved by his crew, wouldn't know what it's like to have a family again, wouldn't have the opportunity to look at Stede in a different light and realize he will be a good captain one day, just needs to learn a bit, wouldn't have the opportunity to teach him so that he is far more confident now that the crew will be in good hands without him... most importantly, if he did go back then, Fang, Jim, Archie, Frenchie and Edward would be dead right now, and he would never allow this to happen if he could help it.

❝ Stop, Eddie, stop, ❞ he croaks, echoing Edward's own words, cutting off his panicked reassurances ( they both know his wound is fatal, but only one of them is brave enough to admit it ), and forces his eyes open again, though it feels harder than it was before, and with a lot of effort slowly brings his leather-clad hand to touch Edward's cheek as he tells him, softly, placatingly, asking him to understand, ❝ I want to go. ❞

And it’s half-truth and half-lie because if he weren't shot, he wouldn’t want to go, he would very much like to stay and find out what it feels like, living for himself surrounded by people who accept him and love him for who he is, not who he pretends or tries or changes himself to be, but since his wound is fatal ( he'd been shot before, he knows what it feels like, and what he feels now is different, and that's how he knows that nothing can be done, has known for some time, since the shore, or maybe even the forest ), he wants it to end as soon as possible, doesn't want for his death to be dragged out, doesn't want Edward to look at him like his world is ending, and most importantly — he wants Edward to think he is going in peace, ready and willing, maybe then Edward himself would accept his death, too.

Stay with me. Please.

Those words break his heart, and he really wishes he went sooner, wasn't around to hear them, because in all the years he's known him, Izzy never heard Edward say please.

He never begged.

But he is begging now, and tears finally streak down Izzy's blanched cheeks as he strokes Edward's cheek with his thumb lightly, still cupping his cheek with his right hand, as he tells him honestly:

❝ I can't, Eddie. I can't. You have to let me go. ❞

And it's the most painful phrase he ever had to say.

@petrifiedcrange (cont)

❝ Stop... okay? ❞ Ed tries to sound comforting, reassuring, like he knows that nothing bad will happen to Izzy. Because of course it won't, this is his indestructible little fucker. But Izzy is trying to say goodbye to him and just the thought of losing him, makes Ed panic, his hand desperately pressing on the wound, but trying to keep his eyes on Izzy.

❝ Just stop. I need you here. You can't leave... I don't want anyone else. ❞ Not even Stede. Izzy has always had been such a constant, that even when Ed dreamed of his life with Stede, even when Izzy betrayed them, he just knew that Izzy would be there. But he can't think of Stede now and the future they might not have. All he can think about is Izzy and how he wants him in his life. ❝ Not without you. If you weren't bleeding, you'd think clearly. You'd know I need you, with me. So focus on getting better, okay? You'll be okay. You'll be okay.❞ he keeps repeating, hoping that somehow whatever Gods might exist will hear him and they won't take Izzy away from him. ❝ Stay with me. Please. ❞ Blackbeard did not apologize or said please. And neither did Ed, but he would beg and beg if it meant keeping him here.

[thunderbranded]

deathsplot / “cassandra.” his tone is serious, probably more serious than she’s ever heard it. there is no coldness in his voice but there is little warmth there either. a strange sort of indifference lies within him that was previously unheard of. “i always wondered if we’d meet again. it’s been a long time. i hope you’ve been well.” surprisingly he means this genuinely. despite everything he holds no ill will toward her & never has. he’d be the last one to judge someone for doing their duty.

@deathsplot + unprompted but really came for me 

cassandra, like a whisper in tombstones; like a whisper of children, dangling feet on a cliff’s edge, laughter a swell like golden dust in their lungs. it meant something different then, left perilously between the red crackle of her blade: duty or freedom? duty or –

something wraps its way along catherine’s throat, like a hand clasping too tightly. her voice is hoarser than she wants, “christophe?” she swears just saying his name might kill her, might reopen all the festered wounds she kept bandaged up tightly. she’s stronger than this, but – she sacrificed him. she’s stronger than this, but – she left him to die. she’s stronger than this, but –

she didn’t realize how much time scraped away. that the timbre of his voice could be scratched away, pale, until it was back in its fullness and striking her, cold and impartial and formal, enough to bring a reprimand to her lips again just from the habit of it. she tries to swallow the tightness in her throat, fails. tries to not break with the ghost of him.

she’s stronger than this, but – “christophe, what the hell?” her voice breaks, eyes ashen even as she tries to smile. “you’re supposed to be dead.” she can’t apologize. rims of her eyes swollen from holding back tears, she finds that her foundations are only made of sand, bound to be blown or washed away, but she can’t apologize. if she does, what would that sacrifice have even meant? her resolution is shaken. 

she wants to hold him. she wants to check if he’s real. she wants, she wants, she wants – “christophe, how have you been?” it’s a stupid question. she falters. gods, seiros, why does she never know what to say when it matters? i’m sorry burns a hole in her. “i’m …” she sucks in a breath, “i can’t believe you’re alive …” she clasps a hand over mouth, the glass of her eyes turning downcast as she swallows down a sob.

through the gaps in her fingers, catherine murmurs, “it’s just like you to give well wishes to your killer.” she laughs, and the motion is just enough to make tears fall.

[wild-lavender-rose]

Perfect Timing

Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce x reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: In a world where soulmates have matching tattoos etched on their wrists, Hawkeye is convinced that he won’t live long enough to find anyone with a tattoo similar to his, let alone matching. However, the day you arrive at the MASH 4077, injured and refusing to accept help, Hawkeye is shocked to discover that your tattoos match. 

Warnings: Description of injuries, blood, gore, war setting, mild language

     “You’re going to be just fine, John. I promise.” You ran your hand through the sweaty locks of a soldier that looked barely enough to hold a gun. “I promise.” 

     “What-whatever you say, d-darlin’.” John tried to smile as if the only thing stopping his insides from spilling out weren’t your hands holding them in place. 

     You looked up at the blur of green and brown and blood as doctors and nurses ran back and forth between the soldiers being unloaded from the bus on stretchers. “Doctor! I need a doctor over here!” 

     “We’re movin’ as fast as we can here.” A tall man dressed in a pink silk dress stopped long enough to acknowledge you. “The docs say that the worst cases go first.” 

     “This is the worst!” 

     “Not by their standards.” 

     Anger flared within you. You’d heard that the 4077th was one of the best units. Clearly it was being populated by a bunch of pansy pediatricians. “Idiots, they’d think a hangnail was the worst case. Get over here!” 

     “But I’ve got to finish unloading the bus.” 

     “Well now you’re a tourniquet.” You nodded down to John’s wounds. “Keep constant pressure on this, even if he screams.” 

     “Oh god,” the man knelt beside her and did as you asked, paling as John gave an anguished moan at the additional pressure. 

     Hands dripping with blood, you stood and made a run for the surgeon’s tent. No one noticed you in the chaos. No one stopped you as you expertly maneuvered your way through the crowd and into the surgeon’s scrub room. 

     There were three men prepping when you shoved the doors open and walked in. “All right, who’s the idiot in charge around here?” 

     The oldest of the three didn’t even bother to stop scrubbing his arms. “Depends. In charge out there or in charge in surgery?” 

     “Whoever has the final say over which patient goes first. I have a man out there who’s insides will become his outsides unless someone can stick him up fast.” 

     “Honestly, I leave you guys for two seconds and you let the riff raff in,” a man with black hair and blue eyes walked in through the door across from you. The door that led into the operating room. He stopped and regarded you over the top of his surgical mask. “You’ve got a complaint, sweetheart?” 

     Your anger bubbled over at the nickname. “I have a man outside that needs help now.” You demanded. “And if you’re too busy in there making bets on which of your patients dies first, then give me a med kit and I’ll do it myself.” 

     “Which kid is it?” The man’s voice had sobered, his expression growing pained. “Is it Lieutenant Smith, the one you were working on when I was out there?” 

     “John.” You didn’t remember seeing him outside, let alone watching you. 

     The man shook his head. “He’s too far gone. I could save four men in the time it would take me to maybe save him.” 

     The truth of his words hit you harder than any bullet, a truth you had been pushing aside the moment you had first found John bleeding out in the trenches. Still you clung on. “No.” You shook your head, throat closing up with the sting of unshed tears. “No! You’ve got to try. He’s got a wife. They just had their first baby.” 

     “Hawkeye, did you see the-” the man in the pink dress burst into the room, stopping beside you. “I guess you found the idiot.” 

     You turned on him. “What are you doing?! You need to be with John!” 

     “There’s no point.” 

     “What do you mean there’s no point!?!” The tears were falling now. Hot, angry tears. You reached up and shoved them away, streaking blood across your face. “I told you to stop the bleeding!” 

     “He’s already dead!” The man yelled back, eyes full of pain. “Houlihan confirmed it. He died a few seconds ago.” 

     It was like you had been hit with an enemy attack all over again. Only instead of the outside in it was from the inside out. 

     The man in the dress gave a nod. “I’m sorry. Truly.” 

     You nodded back. He turned and left. The three other men had finished their scrubbing prep and filed into the operating room. The oldest man, the one who had spoken before, placed a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “You coming?”

     “Yeah, in a second.” Hawkeye was staring at you. 

     You stared back, body feeling numb and unsteady. But his blue eyes grounded you in a way that you had never felt before, a way you never expected to find in the middle of the hell you were living. It was like he knew what you were thinking. That he knew of the nightmares, the dreams, the fears, the experiences. All of it, just by looking. And he hurt for you. More hurt than you thought possible for one man to feel so deeply. 

     “Are you all right?” He asked. 

     “I...I’m sorry.” 

     “Is that all his blood?” Hawkeye’s gaze dropped to your right side and the dark blood stain seeping through your green shirt. 

     “Yeah.” You lied, taking an uncertain step back. “I’ll...I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry.” 

     You turned and left the room before he had a chance to say anything more, leaving him to stare after you.

Part 2

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[izepeche]

Don’t You Know, You’re Life Itself

A/N: This is an excerpt of a lil fic Ive been rolling around in my empty brain since I watched MoM. My attention has been divided with other ideas i'm working on ;) so it might take a little time to roll this whole one out. This is only a part (and in fact this is the middle) of what I’ve written, so stay tuned! There’s no beta reader (i dont have one sorry), so my apologies if there are mistakes. As always I’m appreciative of any comments or feedback, this is the first fic ive written in… *checks non-existent watch* a few years, so im rusty to say the least!

Pairing: Sinister!Strange x F!Reader with Powers

Warnings/Tags: Light spoilers for DS MoM, Obsession, Stalker, Manipulation, Porn with Plot, Dub-Con Elements, Biting, Fighting, Choking, Mentions of Blood, Manipulation, Rough Sex, Allusions to Abandonment and Family Issues, Identity Crisis Issues, Dark!Possessive!Sinister Strange, that's really a warning within itself

*I’m VERY bad with tags, so if I miss something, pls tell me*

Word count: 3.5k+ (unfinished)

Synopsis: You go to Sinister!Stephen Strange for help with your powers, against your better judgment. He is all the more happy to oblige you in your time of need. Deep down you know you shouldn’t trust him, nor do you know why he's so eager to help. But you have no one else to turn to, and his charming smile puts you at ease… too bad it's all for show.

EXCERPT BEGINS BELOW

“Ah, I see,” he enthusiastically quipped, stepping towards the giant eye-shaped window, silver brushed back at his temples glimmering, looking out into the foggy distance. “And what exactly is your power?”

He stole a glance at you through squinted eyes. Your stomach fluttered at catching his look but you held your ground. You had the slightest feeling he was putting you on, feigning intrigue while asking questions and offering off-color (but endearing) one-liners.

“Common, god-damned sense.” You remarked in a low voice. It came out in more of a sarcastic tone than you had anticipated, but you rolled off of it. Allowed the words that hung in the thick air to give you a purchase for confidence.

His shoulders came up in a tense movement, craning his head toward you and he breathed out,

“That’s a good one.”

He flashed you an incredulous smile. The smile that unabashedly bared his teeth and pulled against his face like he was going to crack; admittedly, it was damn charming. Despite you being stuck between feeling untrustworthy of him and the dread in your bones while being in his presence; you couldn’t deny how hauntingly attractive the man before you was.

He then slowly shook his head, and light blue eyes pierced through you, cool anticipation trailing down your spine like cold fingers.

He continued, “Though, I don’t think that’s the whole truth, now is it?” He searched your face as he sauntered closer towards the table and clasped his hands behind him.

Deep down you felt the familiar twinge of the guilt you had tried so hard to bury, but all it ever did was resurface like corrosive bile. All you ever wanted was to be honest and open with people. You didn’t enjoy having to keep secrets or lying to those you loved, but it was the only way to protect them. And look where that got you. No where, with nobody else. You couldn’t win and it just didn’t seem fair. You always struggled to be true to yourself, always wound up caught between being who you were and what you had to be. You didn’t even know who you wanted to be anymore. Everything you felt was so conflicted, and it never got easier as the years went by. Maybe you were meant to be alone. The stinging lump in your throat felt harder to swallow.

He dropped his smile as he caught on to how saddened you became. His eyes cut away to the document laying on the table you had brought with you. He picked it up and studied it shortly, his eyes coming back to you. Written in your own handwriting, you had detailed your consent of allowing Stephen Strange to do anything he could to strip you of your powers. Included in the flurry of statements you scrawled how even if it resulted in your death, you would rather suffer greatly than ever hurt someone else again.

“I- I just dont know, sir. A lot of things, I mean. Not just this.” You lifted your hands before dropping them, too ashamed to watch how they shook. He opened his mouth and you winced, mouthing an apology when you remembered that he didn’t want you to call him that. He nodded, offered you the paper and conjured a pen, and without second thought you scribbled out your full name under his; per his instructions.

You didn't understand what your powers were, but if they drove those you loved away, why have them? Your stomach was in knots, he didn’t fully explain what would happen next, but a part of you couldn’t care less.

“I just want them gone.” You swallowed and twiddled with the mauve celluloid pen in your hands, admiring its weight and balance across your unsteady fingers.

“What a shame, you couldn’t stop that scalpel.” He stated plainly as he watched you fidget, mumbling something you couldn’t hear and the pen flicked of existence. A pleased smile tugged at his lips as he peered down at the signed document.

“Wait. What did you say?” You asked. How did he know about that? Everything was moving too fast. It might have been just your blurry, tired mind but there were still so many questions you wanted answers to, answers you knew he had. He seemed too content with luring you in with questions but never offering a conclusion.

The piano separating the two of you slid away. Candles of different sizes scattering the room began to slide forward and the air seemed to become charged like a thunderstorm was brewing. You could feel something surging from out of your bones.

“There’s not much of anything going on in that pretty little head of yours, is there.” Stephen sneered as he approached you, wind from nowhere blowing long, swept back hairs onto his pale forehead.

“You just signed over your life to me.” You couldn't move from where you were, and you didn’t attempt to make a rebuttal. You just wanted it to be over.

“I-in some way, yes, I suppose I did.”

“Then I suppose I shall take my payment.”

“We never did discuss that.”

“Don’t worry, there won't be much discussion…”

Perhaps out of your ignorance, or sleep deprivation, you rambled to fill the air; to engage despite the uneasy tension forming.

“I guess for a man like you, taking a life is easy. You mentioned earlier about how high the price could be when someone did something wrong with their power. So, how will you kill me?”

Stephen let out a low chuckle, appreciative of your curiosity and meek nature. He placed a large hand on your shoulder, rubbing your collarbone with his fingers. You knew less about him than you liked, but you allowed the contact.

A disembodied voice whispered low and cool lips matierialized against the shell of your ear. “What do you think you deserve?”

It was Stephen’s, for sure, but his mouth hadn’t moved. You breathed in sharply and attempted to answer the loaded question, but he placated you with his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned softly into his warm palm, leaning into it. You didn't let people touch you anymore; it was often a lot to make a conscious effort to keep your powers in check so as not to hurt them. Though you were never a big fan of physical contact; this felt different. He really held you. Though his hands were warm, a cooling effect spread across the areas he touched and it soothed you.

This was a special moment that you didn't attempt to hide how you felt, and it was cathartic for both of you. Messy hair framed your weary face, the rest bundled into a hair clip. Your strands spilled out like a halo around your head, highlighting your resting features. You looked angelic, raw, open, breathtaking, just for him; better than he’d ever imagined. You didn't see how he slid his tongue across his teeth as he watched you intently.

Tenderly his thumb began to run small circles into your cheeks, and feeling it become damp against your skin made you open your eyes. That's when you realized you had begun to cry. His fingers slid into your hair and massaged a spot behind your ear, a chill bursting across your nerves. Your eyes closed again, and another moan came out; but this one was particularly obscene.

“Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.“ You blustered. “I’m so sorry.” Your face burned and you blinked up at him through tear-studded lashes.

Fuck, he could get used to that.

“Don’t be, we all have our…sensitive places.” He cooed with a wink. His pupils were dilated. Now it was your turn to let out a laugh along with an awkward, heavy sigh. You hesitated before you used a quivery hand to remove his from your face. The heat simmering in your stomach protested.

“Maybe I should go.”

You tried to ignore the crushed look on Stephen’s face as you turned away, his other hand slipping from your shoulder. You left him where he stood, his hand that cradled you still up in the air. You stepped past the table and eyed the stairs.

“I really do appreciate your trying to help me, it was really quite kind of you-“

The table flew past you and blocked the stairwell. All of the candles around the room extinguished, albeit a lone candelabra on the piano.

“Trying?” He snapped, voice breaking. You turned back, only to see empty space. He appeared behind you like a ghost, hands at your sides and his nose ghosting the crook of your neck.

“A deal’s a deal.”

“I understand, b-but I think I'm better off dealing with this alone.”

You could barely get the words out, distracted by his heated breath on your neck. You still wanted to go home, not that you knew where that would be anymore.

“You dont believe that.” Stephen replied sickly sweet, groping roughly along your chest. You whined and attempted to pry his roaming fingers off of you; but even without using his abilities he was stronger than you.

And as demented as all of this was, he was right. Being alone was one thing. Being lonely because you couldn't even understand yourself was another. You didn’t want to bear that burden anymore, you couldn’t.

“Well, to be fair, you haven't done anything yet.”

He nipped at your neck, causing you to jump in his grasp. He let out a growl before whipping you around, large hands digging into your hips and pulling you against him. He waved a hand and the lit candelabra came off the piano and floated a few inches above your face, the ivory wax dripping onto the floor below.

“Never deny my power,” He spat, voice echoing across the room, his eyes ablaze in the yellow glow from the flames dancing above you. Feeling the emanating heat, you tried to wriggle free, but the candle light followed. Hot ivory fell from the candle onto your cheek and you gasped in pain, the heat lingering on your skin.

“What do you think I have been doing this whole time? From the moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were meant for me. Not for your family, not your friends, not your fucking boyfriend,” He grabbed your face in one hand momentarily before licking a hungry stripe from your jaw to your temple, his facial scruff dragging against your skin with a throbbing burn. “You wasted so much of yourself on them. You’re mine now, the way it’s supposed to be. And you had no idea how much I fought for you-”

As you broke away from his grasp you shook your head in utter disbelief. The emotions that whirled deep within confused even you. He had to be fucking crazy; he had no right to say such things about who you could belong to. He didn’t even know you. You lost everything because of him.

You smacked him across the face and screamed obscenities through blearing vision. Stephen staggered to the side and hissed, his hand coming up to touch his face. Blood. He snarled and stood erect, crazed eyes draining of emotion before they frenzied again, freezing you where you stood. He rushed you, you turned away. An arm came around your head and caught your throat, trapping you.

He dragged you back against his chest for leverage then knocked you down by kicking in your calves. The more you struggled, the more you felt him laugh breathlessly against your hair. He used his other arm to undo the strings holding together the front of your dress, and you bit down on his bicep, teeth going through his garment and iron hinting at your tongue. Stephen hissed and his arm muscles tightened, crushing your windpipe. You dug your nails into his solid tricep and forearm as you fought to free yourself, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You managed to get a leg out and kick in the side of his knee. Stephen wavered for a moment and retorted, heaving you by the waist and throwing you into the piano, the fall board banging against your midriff and sending out a discordant sound of keys into the air. Assorted sheet music fluttered onto the ground. You crumbled onto the lip as the searing pain shot through you, breath ragged as red receded from your vision.

“God, the hardest part was that little shithead.” He panted, his words dripping with venom, “He hung on to you like a leech, and I just wanted to crush him every time he touched you.“

Stephen lunged at you again, grabbing your hair and jerking your head back. He seized your throat and squeezed harshly, your vision going spotty.

“My… powers?” You managed to interject, tears forming in your eyes as you felt consciousness start to melt away.

“Oh, that was the crowning jewel,” he purred, easing his hold on your aching neck and lightly stroking back your hair. He reminisced on the way your quickened pulse had felt against him and licked his lips. “That was all you my dear. Let’s just say, I exasperated a few things.”

You reeled from the lack of oxygen again and your eyes shut. The events of the past several months flew by like a projector slide. Your fear of hospitals, of letting your family down, of losing your job, and ruining your relationship; Strange had played on them. It was dastardly, how everything came crashing down and you could only watch as your world fell apart.

“You lied to me.” You cried through uneven breaths, and wriggling free, grabbed hold of the side of the piano and turned to him.

“You ruined my life!”

“I’ve let you see the truth. Anyone who deserved being in your life wouldn’t have left you. I did what I had to do to protect you. It was the only way.” He stared into the dancing flames and they illuminated his glassy, empty eyes. Beaded red across his cheekbone caught your eye, he didn’t even seem to react to it.

What he had said pierced your heart, a part of you began to believe him. Doctor Stephen Strange, even with all his power, couldn’t just make them leave; or else he would have done that from the start. This was something they all chose to do in the end. You weren’t perfect, neither was your family, and your relationship with them wasn’t the best; but you tried to be who they wanted you to be. And still you watched them slip away.

You saw how they arranged their lives to exclude you, missing important dates and never calling. Most of your friends distanced themselves from you after you broke the news to them that you couldn’t control your powers; the others only interested in what you could do for them with the abilities. Your boyfriend, your last hope, had begun to despise you when you attempted to talk about yourself and what you needed. The incident at the hospital was just the tip of an iceberg that was already cracking. Your eyes, though weary from crying, burned. Even though you hated to admit it now, with or without Strange’s influence, your powers might have harmed someone else, and you would have been found out anyway. You certainly had more than a few close calls.

There were so many things that you had more questions than answers for. How long had he really been pulling the strings? What did he gain in destroying your life? Was it really just to be with you? The implications of those thoughts sickened you; it was all too much to process.

“You're insane.” You wheezed, attempting to regain your composure and you hit him in the chest with a closed fist.

He didn’t budge. Usually your powers would have made more of an impact, but they were… gone? Maybe it was your adrenaline running out from fighting for your life. Or maybe… You looked at your hands in horror then back at him. He did a sign with deft hands and violet lightning whizzed out of them, your wrists bound in them and pulled them behind your back.

“I gave you what you wanted,” Stephen growled hungrily, baring teeth and icy eyes twinkling, “Now you give me what I want.”

Your eyes grew large at the insinuation and you kicked at him. Stephen’s thigh moved in between yours. He leaned in, you accidentally ground against him and yelped. You managed to twist away and he dug fingers into your ass, bringing you back onto his leg. He hissed at the decadent contact, rocking your hips ever so gently as his heated gaze met your eyes. Long dark strands fell in front of his eyes, pupils blown like black holes. It was potent, your conflicting desires swirling and smoldering within you and you swore you’d die from the heat. You felt spellbound.

Dripping wax fell onto the column of your neck and you let out a strained moan.

Stephen bellowed and you felt it resonate within you. “I didn't make you do that, now did I.”

A blush trickled across your face and down your neck and you dropped your eyes. He didn’t make a snide remark then, much to your surprise; but instead brandished an amused look. He did note how pretty you looked, bound in his magic, and wanting him. You didn’t deny it, no, not really; and your weak attempts at protest only spurred him on. Stephen Strange was never one to back away from a challenge.

And what a prize you were.

Not wanting to break the momentum, with a snap of his fingers your metal belt appeared in his hand and he let it clatter to the floor. The candelabra rested back onto the grand piano. You scrunched your face as he pushed the fabric aside, revealing your partially naked form. His eyes raked over your exposed body, and you couldn’t bear to watch, turning your head away.

He pushed more of the dress aside, viciously dragging his nails over your knees and up your thighs. He stopped short of your heat, tracing the delicate skin of your mound before brushing against the outer folds. You gulped down a moan and closed your legs.

He put on an exaggerated pout. “Oh, come on, don’t try the prude lady act with me, darling. We both know how much of a whore you really are.”

Stephen went down on his knees, positioning himself in front of your shut legs.

“Show me.”

You didn’t move. He delivered a harsh swat to your thigh, a purple spark zapping you and you jerked against your restraints.

He breathed in and his tone shifted. “Open them, or I will break you.”

That crazed look entered his eyes for a moment and your blood went cold; you knew he meant exactly what he said. You didn’t dare call his bluff. Despite this pernicious dilemna, the imminent dread churned the sweltering pool of arousal within you into something… bittersweet. It wasn’t alien to you, you’d been privy to it in the time leading up to coming to the Sanctum; it growing thicker when he’d touched you, grabbed at you. Yet you ignored it, trying to deny it out of existence; but like your powers it only came back stronger.

It’d be noticeable now, you could feel the wetness as it seeped out and dampened your inner thighs. It was all so, so wrong, but the filthy, sinful feeling was too divine to ignore.

You knew it would be over for you when Stephen saw it. And he will see it.

So, why deny yourself?

EXCERPT END

[rrxnjun]

mission wingman: failed ; lee jeno

pairing: lee jeno x fem! reader ; the rest of dream 00 line x fem! reader genre: best friends to lovers au, humor (poor attempt), fluff, mutual pining warnings: a LOT of swearing, the reader is most likely an aries with the lack of patience she has, mentions of food, minor injury, the abuse of adderall ?? word count: 4.5k (4.500)

summary: After hearing you whine about not having a boyfriend for what feels like eternity, your best friend, Lee Jeno, finds a new talent in him-- the art of being a wingman. His mission of finding the right one for you doesn’t go as well as he planned, and 3 failed dates later, you finally have enough. In other words, this is a story about the 3 times Lee Jeno offered you a bad date and the fourth time he finally decides to fix it.

Running at the speed of light, thighs burning and your insides screaming for air-- this is not how you imagined spending your Wednesday afternoon when you went out on a date. It’s a little after half-past five-- no, scratch that, it’s a lot after half-past five. It’s currently quarter to six and you think you are going to die of embarrassment because this is your first date in what feels like years and you managed to come late. Not only do you feel bad, but you also feel childishly pathetic with how you’re running down the street to the bus station where your date is waiting for you, but truth be told, it’s your only choice of transportation because you forgot to call a taxi in the hurry and if you just walked, you’re fairly certain the poor boy would be standing there until half-past seven.

The smiley face of no other than Na Jaemin-- because who else would you go on a date with in your senior year, right? --appears in front of your figure as you continue to jog closer to him. You don’t even mind how tired you are anymore, the pain makes you feel at least a little better about yourself now-- maybe you should try doing cardio more often to make up for your mistakes. Sounds like a thing to talk over with your therapist next time you meet her…

Quickly looking at your wrist to look at the time to see just how late you are so you can promptly apologize to your date, even though you’ve known him for more than three years now, your foot gets stuck in an uneven part of the road. You silently curse the government for not using your taxes to fill the holes with cement just a second before you prepare for the fall, because, in true reality, there’s no way that you-- the clumsy you that almost hung herself on the volleyball net in sophomore year of high school-- is going to save the situation and come out of all of this alive.

The pain in your knees and hands comes sooner than the feeling of shame. Your eyes fill with unshed tears and you wonder if it’s from the impact of the fall or the impact of your choices, your heart speeding up as Na Jaemin comes closer to you with a surprised look on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks. It’s a simple question, really, but to you, to answer is harder than anything you’ve ever had to do in your whole entire life.

Because in all honesty-- are you really okay? Apart from the fact that you were furiously running to get to your date just a few seconds ago while not even being that much into the guy you’re meeting-- for obvious reasons we are going to go over in a second-- you are also very much emotionally scarred from the whole experience of embarrassing yourself not only in front of the most popular guy in your campus but also the whole town centre.

“Yeah, totally,” you lie. You feel like, after this, you’re never going to be okay again.

The boy then helps you to your feet with a scowl on his face that quickly turns into a grin he tries to hide after he sees your pained expression, your self-confidence falling even lower than the lowest bar it’s been at for the past few years, the sting in your palms and knees hurting more than your last period cramps with how his laughter only throws salt in the wound.

“I’m sorry for being late, by the way,” you manage to joke out, sarcasm spilling from your every word, when Jaemin hooks a hand under your shoulder and helps you walk a little further away from the middle of the street, helping you seat your poor ass down on the bench. He nervously chews on his bottom lip and chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“When Jeno told me to take good care of you, I didn’t know he meant it so… literally,” he laughs, making you mentally curse yourself for getting yourself into this situation by agreeing to go on a date with your best friend’s friend from middle school because, in reality, you knew all along that this was going nowhere.

Why, you ask? Let’s backtrack a little to a day not even a week away from this horrific day, but still horrific enough to stand up to this one anyway.

You sit on the bed of your best friend-- the dorm looking rather clean since the last time you saw it only a few days before the finals-- the domesticity of it all making your bones hurt and brain swirl with the state you only wish to slap in the face, for you wouldn’t call it anything other than delusional.

Lee Jeno walks around the dorm in his damned grey sweatpants and it may even be doing some things to you, you’re a woman too, to say the least, one of his warm hoodies enclosing your figure even though you’re fairly certain there’s a jacket of your own somewhere in your backpack laying on the floor. The day is supposed to be filled with studying, but both of you know damn well that textbooks are going to be forgotten in few seconds as you bring out the newest gossip and mention the movie you’ve been wanting to watch as he slides out his laptop and logs into his roommates Netflix account-- poor Mark, you think, but abuse the Netflix privileges anyway-- in other words, you are going to soon feel like a teenage girl on a date. The sad thing is, though-- in your books, anyway-- that this is not a date.

You are not dating your best friend, even though you’d like to. Simple as that, really.

The movie playing on the screen flashes through like a distant memory, for you don’t think you’d be able to pay any attention to it even if you tried with how Jeno’s hand is around your shoulder and distantly drawing circles into your upper arm, when you notice the two characters kissing and decide to grunt out in discomfort.

“Dude, I wish I had a boyfriend,” you muse out. You’re a woman-- this is a hint, you think, maybe he’ll finally catch on and see through the lines. You are complaining about being single in front of your best friend because maybe, just maybe, you want him to fill that empty slot. That’s just a thought, though, really. Not anything serious…

“Hmm,” he hums, “I can try setting you up with some of my friends if you want,” he says, the expression he’s wearing a little too joyful with the sudden idea to your own liking, making you realise that 1) he did not get the hint and 2) he is really not into you with how much he seems to enjoy the sudden lightbulb moment he just had.

“Oh, no, you don’t- you don’t have to do that. I can find a boyfriend on my own, you know,” you mumble, rolling your eyes at him in annoyance to get the full effect across, when you feel a slight playful slap onto your shoulder.

“If that was the case, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me right now, watching this stupid rom-com. Trust me, I know you better than anyone, so when I tell you that you cannot find yourself a boyfriend for the life of you, I know what I’m talking about,” he rambles and drags you from the despairs of your soul, the pit in your stomach only deepening when he puts his head on your shoulder and nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Give me a few days. I’ll come up with something.”

And with how insistent your best friend can be, you don’t dare to tell him no anymore. It’s not that bad to at least try, right? It’s not like you’ve known all his friends ever since you were eleven, resulting in you also knowing you wouldn’t date any of them even if you were paid to do so. It’s also not like you’ve been madly in love with your best friend ever since you’ve heard him laugh for the first time at the sheer age of ten. No, you’d be foolish to think that.

“So?” Jeno looks at you through his eyelashes, a humongous grin sitting on his features as he awaits your next answer, not even being able to sit right in his spot with the excitement flowing through his veins making him look like a little puppy.

“So...?” you mimic him, not even going to give him the satisfaction of answering right away, even though you know damn well what he’s asking you about.

“Oh, cut the bullshit. How did the date go? Hm?” he asks again, kicking you a little under the table, completely ignoring the food on his plate going cold and the waiter eyeing him like he’s the finest meal in this restaurant. You wish you could ignore her hungry eyes just as well as he can, but you think it takes a lot of confidence to not fawn over every person that gives you at least a tiny amount of attention because you’re convinced you’d already be planning your wedding with the girl if you were at his place.

“Oh, you know, just…” you start, taking a bite of your food to make him even more irritated than he already is, “completely terribly, just how I predicted, but oh well…” you shrug, seeing his eyebrows furrowed and a confused look overtake his features.

“What went wrong? Do I need to beat up that bitch or..?” he asks, making you snort and almost choke on your food.

“Did you just call Na Jaemin that bitch?”

“And what about it? If he made you uncomfortable in any way, I’m ready to call him that even on his last day on this earth. So what went wrong, huh?” he asks, making you place down the fork and sigh heavily, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Well,” you start, “I kind of had to run to the date because I was late, and just when I went to greet him and tell him I’m sorry, I tripped and facepalmed onto the pavement like a fucking frog, so you know, that was neat,” you explain, annoyance filling the tone of your voice as you roll your eyes and take ahold of your fork again, continuing with your lunch.

Jeno snorts a little, trying to surpass his laughter, which only makes you angrier in the process as you kick him under the table. “Fucking laugh all you want, but it was terrible. Na Jaemin had to tend to my wounds like a fucking nurse in the middle of the town centre because my eyes kept tearing up and he was worried that I broke my bones.”

“Well, he does study medicine-”

“I don’t care, Jeno, I do not care. It was humiliating and terrible and I never want to go on a date with one of your friends ever again,” you pout. Perhaps you’re taking the situation a little too seriously for your own liking, but with how boring your life usually is, you thrive even from the tiniest hint of drama and this is surely a date for the memory books.

“Well, he wasn’t bad, though, was he? The fact that the date was bad was kind of your fault-”

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s my fault-”

“You fell in the middle of the sidewalk-”

“It was your idea to make me go on that stupid date in the first place!” you burst out, your voice raising and making the whole restaurant look at you in annoyance. You wish to flip out every single one of them with how your blood is boiling in your veins, but you chose not to, because you are well-behaved and not raised to be a nuisance to society.

“Okay, well, you and Jaemin weren’t a good match anyway, but I think you’d be great with-”

“I am not going on another date with your friends, Jeno,” you stop him mid-sentence, desperately holding onto the last bit of your dignity, but as the world works, you are left to be the one going into situations you didn’t even want to get into in the first place.

In other words, you did go on another date with one of his friends and it was just as horrific as the first one.

While Na Jaemin tried his hardest to make you believe he was at least a little interested in you-- even though you both knew that was not the case-- Huang Renjun is surely not the one to act for the sake of his friend. The short boy is currently sitting opposite of you, yawning at every sentence that comes out of your mouth, when your nerves finally snap and you decide to stand up for yourself.

“Why the fuck would you even take me on a date to a restaurant when you’re so bored of me now?” you ask, a scowl sitting on your face, heat rising to your cheeks in shame. You’re convinced that Lee Jeno’s wingman mission has been a disaster to you with how you’ve felt more embarrassment in the past two weeks than in your whole life and you kind of want to commit arson because of it, but your shame is quickly put beneath the ground when Renjun straightens his back and stares you into your eyes.

“I’m not bored at all, trust me, it’s just- well- I’ve been awake for approximately 37 hours now and in order to not miss our date, because I’m convinced Jeno would try to rip out my dick if I did, I’m abusing Adderall to keep me awake,” he completes his speech, chewing on his bottom lip as if he was waiting for you to scold him.

“Are you fucking kidding me- oh you know what, you’re Jeno’s friend. I’m not even surprised at this point,” you sigh and roll your eyes, resting your back on your chair and letting your eyes scan his tired face. You didn’t notice it before, but he does have some prominent dark circles under his eyes and you almost pity him and tell him to go home and sleep, because after all, this date is not going anywhere anyway.

“Why are you even awake for that long?” you ask him, eyebrows furrowed and biting on the inside of your cheek. You almost worry you’re going to have to call an ambulance for him soon, but with how calm he seems, it looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“I had a paper to finish,” he mumbles, “and I also lost a bet with Chenle-”

“You what?” you ask, afraid your ears are deceiving you.

“Hey! I did lose a bet, but I’m always fair and follow up with the consequences. I have to stay awake for 48 hours now because Chenle said so, and I’m-”

“You are psychopaths. Both of you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. You always knew that Jeno’s friends were all crazy, but you didn’t know drug abuse was one of the things on the list of things you’d have to be concerned about.

You continue to talk to him like normal, because, well, he did go on a date with you, to a pretty restaurant, on top of that, but the more and more you talk to him, the more you see Renjun’s eyes drooping and his composure shifting into more and more tired. You can’t really blame him, 37 hours is a lot, but you kind of wish you didn’t have to sit here right now and babysit him so he doesn’t smash his head into the glass on the table.

When just that happens, though, and his head falls onto the table as he falls asleep, you don’t find it in you to stay. You’d much rather spend your evening at home than to watch a man sleeping, so you stand up from your seat and pay for both of your meals, telling the waitress that Renjun’s fine and didn’t die-- he’s just very, very tired.

Just as tired as you are of these dates, so it seems.

Walking down the street, Jeno trailing behind you like a lost puppy, you huff out in anger and hear his annoyed voice call out to you.

“Are you going to talk to me or not?” he asks, furrowed eyebrows and all-- it’s the Jeno you don’t see often, because you don’t often see him get so annoyed, but it’s also the Jeno that is rightfully here because ever since you picked him up at his dorm, you haven’t spoken a word to him and just let him follow you around.

“At least tell me how the date went, then,” he pleads, making your nerves finally snap, because after all of this, how does he even dare to ask you such a question?

“Oh god, Lee Jeno, can you stop with the date questions already?” you mourn out, close to tearing all of your hair out with how sick and tired you are of every single man walking this earth. It’s not like you wanted to date his friends anyway, but it would be nice to see at least one of them making some effort to make you feel like you are on a real date, and not only on a friendly hang-out your mutual friend forced you to attend just to keep his own heart at peace.

“Why? What happened this time?” he asks, irony seeping through his tone. How does he even dare to be the annoyed one? You’ve been wronged here!

You take a sharp U-turn and look him dead in the eyes, careful to make him believe just how furious you are with every single step he’s taken for the last few weeks, eyes fierce and tone of voice cold. “He fell asleep on the table, Jeno, so really, please, don’t ask me how my date went, because frankly, it went pretty fucking terrible.”

He sharply sighs through his teeth, a small hint of guilt sprawling over his features as he takes your words in. You wonder what his next argument is going to be, but you don’t let him even say it with your next words full of spite.

“And we are going to see the movie I’ve been wanting to watch now together because there’s no way I’m letting another one of your friends ruin something for me, okay? No questions, no arguments, let’s go,” you coldly explain, turning on your heel again, big steps following the journey to the cinema, as you hear your best friend call after you with a playful tone in his voice.

“Maybe you should just date me, you know,” he teases, not knowing just how much his sentence affects your lovesick heart.

“Yeah,” you huff, heat creeping up your cheeks, “maybe.”

You enter the dorm room you’ve never dreamt of visiting, the face of Lee Donghyuck welcoming you and telling you to take off your shoes before stepping in, as if the dorm wasn’t hideously dirty enough before. You wonder why you even agreed to come over here in the first place-- Jeno told you this is the last date he can, as your designated wingman, offer you, and so you managed to talk yourself into following up with his plan just so you could finally get over this weird phase in your life.

You know Lee Donghyuck well enough to know he’d never be into you. You also know him well enough to know he lives with Park Jisung and mentally thank all the gods from the above that he is not home right now, because that would make the whole date just two times more embarrassing.

“Oh well, make yourself at home,” Hyuck says as he takes a seat on the wooden desk in the corner of the room, the game in his computer telling you that the attention will definitely not be on you today-- not that you mind, of course.

“Do you wanna play with me?” he asks, eyebrows raised and a controller sitting comfortably in his hands. You contemplate his offer for a second before you agree and sit on the chair next to him, sighing in despair, but being glad for at least some sort of entertainment. You know Hyuck as the most competitive person on this whole entire planet, so you know damn well he won’t let you win just because you’re on a date right now, however strange it might be, and so you fight for your life and try to win on your own account.

You fail, of course.

“You could have at least let me win since we’re on a date, you know,” you roll your eyes, seeing the man next to you chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you actually treat this as a date.”

You furrow your brows, letting out a sigh. “Well, it is a date, so…”

“Yeah, but we both know we’re not into each other, so what’s the point? I’m only doing this so Jeno can get off my back, he keeps talking about this for the last month and I’m pretty over his constant whining,” he says, laughing a little and stretching in his chair. The hem of his hoodie rides up a little on his stomach and you’re fairly certain that if you were anybody else, you’d go crazy over the sight. But you’re just you-- and you are not into Lee Donghyuck. Just as he told you.

“Well, it would be nice to actually see any of you pay some effort, though. All I’ve been on the last three weeks were terrible, terrible dates and I’m so tired of all of this, Hyuck, you can’t even imagine,” you sigh, shaking your head in pure despair.

“Why would we? We all know that you’re not into us since you pretty much throw heart eyes at Mr Muscle Man whenever he’s around, and with how Jeno keeps lowkey gatekeeping you, I doubt he’s anywhere far from being in love with you, so-”

“What are you even talking about right now?” you ask, tired of all of their bullshit. It’s been a long month-- you doubt you even had this much interaction with men in your whole entire miserable life.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re totally not into Jeno. Everyone knows it. Hell, even Ryujin from our engineering class asked me if you’re dating Jeno because she would totally ask you on a date if you weren’t, so at this point, I think our Lee Jeno is the only one not aware,” he rambles, making you even more and more confused with every passing word, the blood in your veins spiralling out of control.

“Did a cat get your tongue? Come on, let’s play another round. If I beat you, you have to confess, so give it your best and let’s go.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re so bad at dating. You literally went on a date with every single guy our age I am friends with, and you still try to tell me you didn’t vibe with any of them?” Jeno complains, a defeated look on his face. When Hyuck told you Jeno is painfully oblivious, you knew he was on to something, but you didn’t really think it was that bad.

“Well, maybe it’s because you’re a bad wingman, I don’t know,” you mutter, too annoyed to even come up with a better comeback because, at this point, you’re just painfully tired.

“That can’t be the case… Really, I think I did my best. You know, I could have tried to hook you up with Han Jisung from my Politology class, but I think that he is secretly a stoner, so I decided against it-”

“For fuck’s sake, Jeno, stop with the dates already,” you whine, putting your head into your hands. Enough is enough and Jeno really doesn’t know when his time to shut up is.

“Why are you so annoyed with it, hm?” he asks, nudging you in the knee and making you efficiently ask yourself just why you are even into someone like him in the first place, “I thought you wanted a boyfriend.”

“I did,” you faintly let out, the lost bet at Lee Donghyuck’s dorm room suddenly appearing in your head, Huang Renjun’s words of bearing the consequences of lost bets following you as you realise that at this point, you finally have nothing to lose.

“And? I’m offering you guys to date, yet, you don’t like any of them-”

“Are you really that dense?” you ask, looking him deadly into his eyes, the serious tone of the conversation surprising even yourself as you prepare for the fall.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. It’s hard to not fall for him when he looks so adorable, you realise, mentally wanting to slap yourself for fawning over him even in a situation like this, a few moments before getting your heart broken.

“Dude, don’t you get it? Seriously?” you huff out, furiously shaking your head in disbelief. “It was a hint. A hint, get it?”

“You are not making any sense-”

“When I told you I wanted a boyfriend, it was a hint for you,” you confess, looking him into his eyes and preparing for the rejection. It doesn’t arrive, though, with how Lee Jeno keeps staring at you in confusion, making you efficiently forget all the anxiety as it’s replaced with anger.

“A hint that I want you to be my boyfriend. What’s not clicking, you idiot?” you yell out, too furious to even remember you just confessed to your best friend. “You know what, forget it, all men are just so fucking oblivious and I can’t-”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re-”

“I’m into you, Lee Jeno,” you finally proclaim to him, knowing that now is the moment you’re going to choke on your tears when he explains that he is not into you, when you see his cheeks redden and a bashful expression takes over his face.

“Well, in that case… I had one last date offer on my mind in order to try to find you a boyfriend,” he says, chuckling a little at his own wording, “with me, this time. I wasn’t sure if you’d like that, but now that you said all of this…”

You stare at him, dumbfounded, a stupid grin slowly creeping onto your lips, the disbelief still so present in your bones as you try to wrap your head around it.

Lee Jeno might just be the worst wingman in the history of wingmen, but if his last option was himself, you just might take on that offer.

“I’d… I’d like that, yeah.”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[ghost-ghost-baby]

Bad habits (alpha!shoto x omega!reader x alpha!izuku poly imagine)

Warnings: self harm (cutting) mentioned, nothing too graphic tho, swearing, angst, hurt and comfort??? Omegaverse, reader tries to b sneaky, it doesn’t work, Shoto and deku know this bitch too well, protectiveness?? Shoto is had in a crisis, Izuku's hero complex goes bbbbrrrr

Summary: reader does a big sh relapse Nd tries to hide it from their mates,,,,, it does not work!

Word count: 1.1k

Not proof read (if u wanna beta for me pls hmu I hate editing)

You were going to meet your mates after work, something you’d been looking forward to all day. Your mental health hadn’t been the greatest lately, in fact it was probably worse than it had been in years, and you’d fallen back into more unsavoury habits to deal with it. But that wasn’t the point! You were seeing your mates! It didn’t matter that you were tired, or that your thighs stung with every step, you were seeing them! The three of you met outside your apartment, Izuku jumping up and down with excitement the second you came into view, and the alpha ran to you when you were a couple of feet away, Shoto telling him to be careful as he followed. Izuku wasn’t careful, your thighs collided with his as your alpha swept you up into a hug, and you had to bury your face in his neck to stop yourself whimpering. It was fine, you were fine.

“Y/n, I missed you! You haven’t been texting me as much, are you okay?” Izuku set you down so he could pepper your face with kisses, and you whined at him until he pressed a kiss to your lips. Then Shoto caught up to the two of you, and he frowned at you until you pulled away from Izuku to greet him.

“Sho! Missed you!” You held your arms out for a hug, and Shoto quickly pulled you to him, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he rested his chin on the top of your head, and his eyes fixed on Izuku. Izuku nodded, grabbing your key out of your bag and unlocking the door, with Shoto carrying you in a moment later.

The lock clicked into place and Shoto gently set you down, him and Izuku both turning to face you, and you felt your anxiety kick back in.

“You smell like blood, why?” Shoto’s deadpan tone didn’t match the concern that laced his face, and you let out a nervous laugh as you reached up to scratch the back of your neck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. You had to come up with some kind of excuse!

“It’s uh- just that time… of the month?” You couldn’t meet their eyes, and Shoto just let out a disappointed sigh that cut right through you.

“Y/n, we can tell when you’re lying!” Izuku crossed his arms over his chest, and their stares made it even harder to come up with an excuse.

“Okay- yeah- but only because it’s nothing to worry about! I was just cooking earlier and I accidentally sliced my finger!” You bit your lip as you waited for a response. Technically you weren’t meant to cook, your mates insisted you could get hurt, so maybe that would be enough to distract them-

“Funny, your scent still smells the way it does when you’re lying.”

“Yeah! And your hands are completely uninjured, tell us the truth, Y/n, please!” Izuku grabbed your hands and you winced when he stepped closer, automatically shifting from foot to foot, completely forgetting why you had to be careful until-

Your jeans rubbed too much on your thighs, and horror shot through you when you realised the cuts had reopened, and judging by the scared look on your mates faces, the jig was up.

“Y/n… what happened? Was there a villain attack? Did someone hurt you?” Izuku had tears in his eyes now, and your own gaze darted between him and Shoto before you finally had the guts to speak.

“F-Funny story, actually! You remember that uh- habit I had when the three of us first started- started courting?” Izuku’s grip on your hands tightened at your words, and the temperature in the room dropped as Shoto’s quirk acted up like it always did when this topic came up. “I may have uh- accidentally- fallen… back… into it… kinda…”

“Go- go to the bathroom, now! Shoto, get your quirk under- under control before you follow us, Y/n is already stressed and they can’t be worrying about calming you down as well.” Izuku went right into hero mode, the alpha turning you around and all but marching you to the bathroom, lifting you to sit on the counter when you reached it.

“Pants off.”

“I-Izuku! That’s so-“ You stuttered, only to be interrupted when your alpha growled.

“Pants off. Now. I- I need to see how bad it is and- and make sure it’s dressed properly.” Izuku’s scent was overwhelming, quickly filling the room and suddenly you were just… too tired to fight about it.

“I- okay…” you quickly undid the buttons on your jeans, carefully pulling the garment down over your hips and thighs, and quickly covering as much of yourself as you could with your shirt while Izuku finished pulling them off, and you pouted when he just dumped them on the floor. You chewed on your bottom lip as Izuku surveyed the damage, most of your thighs were covered in the flat, light scars you’d had for years, but the part closer to your hip was covered in wounds ranging from two weeks old to from just the day before, the fresh ones oozing blood at a rather leisurely pace.

“This has- has been going on for a while, you didn’t- say- say anything?” Izuku busied himself grabbing the disinfectant and bandages, and you could only shrug and avoid his eyes.

“Y/n, he asked you a question.” Shoto’s voice startled you so bad you jumped, accidentally kicking Izuku from where he was trying to clean your injuries, and he couldn’t help but let out a growl at the impact.

“Sorry, Zuku, and I don’t know I just… didn’t wanna bother you guys, ya know? You’ve been working really hard and- and it was just meant to be- a one time thing.” Your words came out strained as the sting from the disinfectant kicked in, and both your alpha’s winced when your scent took on the sour tone that meant you were in distress.

“I know, baby, I know, you’re doing so good!” Izuku cooed, leaning forward to kiss you before he got back to his task. “Relapse is- is a normal and expected part of- of recovery! And- And it doesn’t take away from your- your progress! But Y/n, we’re your mates, you need to tell us if you’re feeling down, at least, okay?”

“We could have a code word, if that’s easier?” Shoto finally piped up, and you nodded in response, relaxing as Izuku applied gauze to your thighs, at least the pressure got rid of the sting from the antiseptic.

“See, Y/n? We’d never be mad at you for something like this, we just wanna help you.” Izuku pulled you into a hug once he was finally satisfied that you were taken care of, and you just let your head rest on his shoulder, arms loosely wrapping around his waist as he carried you back to your room, and you smiled when you realised Shoto had already set everything up for your movie night. You really were lucky, huh?

[ignitedbynatsu]

He Makes You Feel Insecure ~ Jellal

A/N: I did Jellal as requested! Freed will be up next 🤩 Once again thank you all so much for the support. I love seeing people binge read the series it makes my heart swoon 🥺 ANyWaz if you have a request don’t hesitate to ask 🥰

warnings: insecurities (he makes you feel like you are stubborn and a know-it-all), cursing

genre: angst to fluff

Other versions:

Gray ~ Laxus ~ Cobra/Erik ~ Bickslow ~ Gajeel ~ Natsu ~ Freed ~ Sting ~ Rogue

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

"You shouldn't have gone" Jellal frowned as he saw you disinfecting the wound on your upper arm. It was nothing too serious, but you'd rather be safe than sorry later.

You jumped lightly by his sudden presence, making you press harder on the wound than necessary, a groan leaving your mouth soon after.

"I wanted too" you shrugged as you spared him a glance over your shoulder before tending back to the cut.

"I told you it wasn't safe" he crossed his arms, patience slowly running out.

"And I told you I could handle it" you bit back, wrapping the wound up, shielding it from the outside world in the progress.

"Look where that got you" he deadpanned at your carelessness.

"I'm fine, Jellal. It's only a small cut. You don't have to make a big deal out of it" you rolled your eyes as you stood up, finally facing him.

Frustration had clearly taken over his posture as his eyes narrowed at you "you always do this. You always go against my commands. You walk around all high and mighty like nothing can touch you, but guess what, love, I'm in charge here. You follow my rules. You obey my orders. If you can't do that then go somewhere else."

Normally your heart would have stopped at the sound of him using a pet name for you, but not this time. Not when it was used with that much coldness, it nearly sends shivers down your spine.

"If you wanted someone to blindly obey you, you should've gotten a dog" you replied with the same coldness he just used as you walked away from him and towards where Meredy was seated.

"Are you okay?" she gave you a soft smile as you let out a frustrated sigh while sitting next to her on the ground.

"Sometimes I really wonder why he hired me as a spy. It's like he didn't like me from the moment we first meet." You mumbled as you rubbed your hands over your face "he never gives anyone of you any shit for the things you do, so why does he always have to scold me?"

Meredy stayed quiet at your rant, knowing damn well why he chose you as his spy and not anyone else, but she knew that if she told you the truth right now, you'd just laugh at it. "Maybe you should talk with him about it"

"No he always says I'm stubborn when I talk back..." you trailed off, realization dawning on you.

Is that why he didn't like you? You were always more vocal about your opinion than others, but you never really saw it as an issue. The more you thought about it, the more you realized he was right. You always fought him on his opinion, never giving in, not even when you knew you were in the wrong.

You always thought of yourself as a strong independent individual, but now you realized how annoying you must've come across for some people.

You frowned at your newfound information. Everyone probably thought of you as a know-it-all, and you hated it.

"Listen up everyone. Thanks to (Y/N) information, we found our next location. Get ready, we're leaving as soon as possible" Jellal announced. He was waiting for you to object by saying something like you should be waiting 'till morning, so everyone was well-rested, but it never came.

Everyone's head turned to look at you in confusion by your lack of vocalizing your opinion.

You were just silently staring at the ground, not even noticing everyone's eyes were facing you, as you recollect all of your memories of the time you were being stubborn. You cringed at the flashback, wishing you would have shut your mouth from time to time.

Everyone started to get ready to leave once they realized you weren't gonna say anything. Meredy softly hit you in the ribs to snap you out of your mental prison.

You smiled softly at her, before getting ready as well.

Jellal's eyes never left your body. Sure he just scolded you for always going in against his commands, but he didn't think you'd listen. You never listened, so what changed?

You ventured in the direction of the next rogue dark guild and set camp again at a safe distance.

"So what's the plan?" Meredy asked as she just finished setting up her tent.

"We need to find out with how many they are and the entrance to the guild" Jellal replied as he looked at a map. He had marked the place of the guild with a red circle and was now observing the surroundings to see if they were in your favor.

"I could always go scout" you suggested.

"No, it's too dangerous. They're already on high alert after they caught you spying on them yesterday" he shot your request down.

You bit your tongue in an attempt to stop you from protesting and just nodded instead.

Jellal looked up at you and frowned when he didn't hear anything from you. By now you'd usually come up with a clever way to get around the obstacle, but this time no words left your mouth. Not even a dissatisfied noise. It was pure radio silence.

The blue-haired mage did not know how to react. On one side he was relieved because he wouldn't have to worry you getting hurt again, but on the other side, he missed the little quarrel you two had when you went against him.

He didn't actually mind that you always had such a strong opinion. It challenged him to make his plans more thorough.

By nightfall, you had hardly said a word to anyone. You did not speak unless spoken to. You didn't even react to certain things everyone knew you had an opinion on.

Everyone had gone to sleep except you. It was common for you to be the last one awake, you liked the silence the night gave you. However, this time you cursed yourself for having such a messed up sleeping schedule as the silence was deafening. You were once again trapped in your mental prison, only this time there was no one to help you escape, or so you thought.

"It's a beautiful night tonight," Jellal said softly as he took a seat next to you in front of the crackling fire.

Your head snapped up at him, not expecting he was still awake, but his eyes were cast upwards, looking at the clear sky that held so many stars and secrets.

"Yeah" you mumbled as you shifted your eyes from his face to look up as well.

It wasn't the first time you had stargazed together. You loved doing it when you were welcomed by the silence of the night. Jellal joined you from time to time when he knew you all had an off day the next day.

His gaze landed on you as you looked at the distance lights that resembled stars. An idea popped up in his head "look it's the Ursa Major"

He pointed at somewhere completely different, making you frown. You quickly covered it up with a smile "yeah"

"Okay, stop it," Jellal said, his eyes already trained on you when you snapped your attention towards him at his sudden outburst.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know damn well what I mean" He replied "you knew that constellation was not the Ursa Major, we've been stargazing for months"

"Must have mistaken the one you were pointing at" you mumbled in response as you broke eye contact to look at the campfire instead.

"No you didn't" he sighed, his eyes also shifting from you to the fire "why aren't you voicing your opinion."

"I thought you didn't like it when I went against you?" You frowned. "Isn't that why you don't like me in the first place"

This time it was his turn to frown as the words left your lips. Did you really think he didn't like you? "Of course I like you"

You scoffed at his response "Really? Cause no matter what I do, I always seem to disappoint you. You never complain when the others do something wrong so why do you only give me crap?"

"It's because I like you," he said as his gaze shifted once again to look at you.

You laughed dryly at that, but he wasn't having it "(Y/N), look at me" you obeyed and locked eye contact with him "I really like you"

"No, you don't" you whispered as he slowly inched closer, his eyes flickering to your lips for a mere second before looking back at your eyes.

"But I do" he whispered back "tell me when to stop"

You didn't say anything as his lips grazed yours. You closed the gap in anticipation as your hands immediately found your way to his hair.

His hand softly cupped your cheek, while the other one was on your lower back.

Your lips moved perfectly in sink as his tongue softly grazing against your bottom lip, asking permission to enter which you granted.

You gasped as he explored your mouth and pulled you closer, so you were now in his lap, both legs on either side of his.

If he hadn't pulled apart, you for sure would've forgotten to breathe, already addicted to the sweet taste of his lips.

Your foreheads were pressed together as you both breathed heavily. His eyes were closed while you admired the man in front of you.

"I really really like you. I'm sorry if I made you feel like your opinion wasn't validated. I only scold you because I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you" he whispered as he slowly lifted his eyelids to look at you. "I really am sorry for making you feel like I didn't like you"

"I forgive you" you whispered back as you pecked him softly on the lips.

"Great now that's cleared, can you guys go fuck somewhere else? People are trying to sleep over here" Cobra spoke up, startling you both. A pink tone crossed your cheeks as Jellal chuckled softly, careful not to wake the others up.

You hid your face in the crook of his neck "I hate you"

He pulled you closer as he laid a hand on the back of your head "no you don't"

"Yeah, you're right"